


Looking Forward, Living Now

by dat_heichou



Series: Looking Forward, Living Now [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Clairvoyance, M/M, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, Snk mini bang, Telekinesis, Telepathy, just in general psychic powers au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-08-11 09:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7885240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dat_heichou/pseuds/dat_heichou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For as long as he can remember, Marco’s life has been rather unusual.  Instead of dreams, he and his mother both have clairvoyant visions of the future while they sleep.  Marina Bodt decides that for their best protection, it's important to keep moving and keep a wary focus on the events of the future.  </p>
<p>But now, his mother has passed away and Marco is groundless and alone.  And with increasingly concerning visions and a mysterious key that shows up on his doorstep, he needs more help now than ever.  </p>
<p>He ends up in Trost by pure chance, or so he thinks.  But little does he know the city houses people with similar powers and similar anxieties.  He was only looking for some help, but Trost might give him the community and home he’s always wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. IX of Swords

**Author's Note:**

> This is my part of the SNK mini bang.
> 
> I was paired with the lovely artists [emelianss,](http://emelianss.tumblr.com) [kiraharas,](http://kiraharas.tumblr.com) and [leonharlert.](http://leonharlert.tumblr.com) Check out their wonderful art!!
> 
>  
> 
> [Kirahara's art for chapter 1](http://kiraharas.tumblr.com/post/150047069696/the-first-of-my-two-pieces-for-the-snkminibang)
> 
>  
> 
> [Emelianss' art for chapter 2](http://emelianss.tumblr.com/post/150046561116/aaaaand-the-third-and-last-snkminibang-drawing-is)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [Leonharlert's art for chapter 2](http://leonharlert.tumblr.com/post/150510676302/are-they-really-sure-about-this-marco-wonders)
> 
>  
> 
> Also shoutout to [musewriter777](http://musewriter777.tumblr.com) who helped me edit and listened to me ramble about the writing process.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!

Marina Bodt had often told her son that there were many dangers in staying in one place for too long.  This lesson was so ingrained into him that even on the morning of her funeral, her son had packed up their few belongings into the back of their truck, ready to drive away once final goodbyes were over.

Throughout his life, her son could remember many times they had climbed into the old pickup to find a new temporary home.  On some drives, his mother had impatiently tapped on the steering wheel, anxious to get to their destination in time.  On other drives, she held the wheel in an iron grip, fear pushing them to a mystery destination, its only known feature being “far from here.”

This time, as Marco climbed into the driver’s seat, he couldn’t help but wonder what was urging him to leave this time.  As he wiped away his tears, he tried to recognize the ache in his chest.  Was it just pain, or was there fear as well?

He didn’t let himself think any more about it until his only true home was simply a memory in his rearview mirror.

He stopped driving when he reached Trost.  There wasn’t a particular reason, except something sounded right about it.  His mother always urged him to trust his intuition, and he figured since that was all he had left, now would be the time to finally use it.

Though he wasn’t entirely sure whether it was intuition or hunger that made him want to stop.

A small pizza place caught his eye, so he decided to put off finding a place to stay until a little later.  The pizzeria was mercifully rather empty inside, with only the young man behind the counter to see him.  

He makes his order--a small veggie lover’s pizza--and pays for it before hanging back from the counter to wait.  He can feel the tingle of eyes upon his skin and wishes that he had taken a moment to change earlier.  A stranger in a wrinkled black suit was sure to attract extra attention, and that's the last thing he wants.

The bell above the door jingled as another customer walked in, swiftly snatching away the worker’s eyes.  “Jean, is that you?  I haven’t seen you around Trost in like, two years!”

Marco sighed at the diversion and edged further along the counter, letting the low murmur of their voices act as buffering background noise.

“Mmmm, yeah I ended up deciding to come back.  Don’t know for how long though.”  

“Weren’t you dating someone and living together back in Sina?  What happened?” There is a strange mix of curiosity and concern in the question, and a small part of Marco wonders how well the two men actually knew each other before deciding it most definitely is none of his business.

Distancing himself further from their personal conversation, Marco turns to the brightly lit Scratch Off vending machine.  Marco knows that he certainly does not have his mother’s accuracy but figures it wouldn’t hurt to try out his own “luck.”  He slips a dollar out of his pocket and considers the machine, closing his eyes as he slowly runs his fingers over its colorful display.

“Didn’t work out, that’s all,” Marco vaguely hears the other customer answer, causing the cashier to bombard him with increasingly personal questions about the situation.  Marco has a hard time focusing on the machine at first, his attention slipping away with the ebb and flow of the other men’s voices, but eventually he’s able to finally let his searching stop when his index finger lingers on a single button.  As he presses it, the machine makes a high pitched beep before churning out the ticket at the bottom.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marco can feel the gaze of the two men shift back to him for a moment.  He maintains his focus on the lottery ticket, hoping that if if he doesn’t look up they’ll be sucked back into their conversation again.

Yet as Marco scratches away the grainy ticket surface with a quarter he had dredged up from his pocket, he realizes that he will, in fact, have to go attract attention from the man behind the counter once more.

By this time, the two men are once again absorbed in their conversation.  Or at least the cashier is.  The blond man in the baggy green hoodie seems mildly engaged at most, considering his hunched, almost self-protective posture and distracted glimpses around the shop.

Marco clears his throat and passes the ticket to the cashier, causing the man to bark out a laugh as he reads the small capitalized text.

“Looks like we have a big winner here!” He exclaims, wagging his eyebrows at the two customers before opening the cash register to slam eight quarters down upon the shop counter.

For the first time since he walked into the shop, the young man in the baggie hoodie cracks a smile as he lets out a surprised laugh.  “Really, Connie?  You couldn’t have given the guy two dollar bills?”

At hearing a break in the other man’s mood, Marco feels a tiny smile tug at his lips.  Considering the heavy amount of tension and sadness he’d been through lately, the gesture feels almost unfamiliar on his face.  The realization aches, so Marco attempts to distract himself by quickly reaching for the coins on the counter, only to knock two of them onto the floor by his feet.

The blond beside him only laughs even harder at that, becoming more boisterous in response to Marco’s squeak of embarrassment.  The stranger almost seems to forget himself, straightening his hunched shoulders as he laughs and offering to retrieve the coins himself.  He doesn’t wait for an answer before he ducks under the counter to grab them.

But at this point, Marco has already started reaching for the change.  Though two quarters fell, they both seem to fixate on the same one.  Marco makes this realization only as his hand wraps around the coin at the same time as the other man’s fingers brush against his wrinkled suit sleeve.

To Marco’s surprise, the young man doesn’t move away from his arm.  He glances over to see the blond’s face frozen as if in a trance, his bright amber eyes almost glazed over, his thin lips fallen apart into a small ‘o.’  A slight pallor has fallen over his skin and the sight unsettles Marco.

He seems to feel Marco’s eyes on him, and the stranger finally breaks out of the trance to look back at him.  Marco feels his breath catch in his throat when those wide eyes catch his.  There’s pain and fear in those amber eyes, along with a glimpse of what could almost be _pity._

Before Marco can swallow past the newfound lump in his throat, the stranger is jumping to his feet and telling the man behind the counter that he had forgotten something and needs to go.  By the time Marco stands back up, the store door is banging shut behind him, the bell clanging harshly against the doorjamb.

The cashier gives Marco a strained smile as a young woman pushes a small box of pizza through the kitchen window.  He hands it to Marco, but hesitates a moment before letting go.

“Hey, um… sorry about that.  He gets jumpy sometimes.”  The man releases the box, running a hand through his short cropped hair.  His bright eyes look Marco up and down, the sudden appraisal keeping Marco frozen in his place.  The man finishes with what could almost be a cunning smile as he adds, “especially around attractive people.”

Marco’s cheeks burn in response as he ducks his head and stutters his thanks for the pizza before swiftly escaping back to his truck.

It has been a long, emotionally exhausting day, and Marco’s really just wants it to end.  He picks out a fairly clean looking motel before going through the all-too-familiar motions of renting a room, grabbing a small suitcase out of the truck along with the pizza box, and unlocking the door.  He strips out of his even more wrinkled suit and throws open his suitcase to pull on the first pair of pajamas he can reach.  He settles down to eat directly out of the box, finally letting the memories of the day wash over him.

The haunted look on the young man’s face lingers in his memory, and Marco can’t help but wonder what on earth that was.

* * *

 

Everything is dark and still.  It's so quiet that even Marco’s breathing sounds loud to his ears.  In fact, it's the only thing he can hear at all.

A flash brightens up an area a few paces away, allowing Marco to make out someone curled up on the ground, legs tucked up to their chest in an almost protective position.  He takes a few steps closer, trying to get a better look.  But before he can see the person’s face, the ground suddenly quakes under his feet.

Marco feels something large and heavy pelt in him in the side, knocking him to the ground.  The earthy surface itself is no longer smooth, but newly harsh and uneven, digging painfully into his knees and the palms of his hands when he catches himself.  This lower position still isn’t safe from the flying objects though; now they seem to come at him from all directions, raining on him from every possible angle.  Marco ducks to the ground, hiding his head in his arms to try and protect his face.

After a while the bombardment stops and Marco can finally look up again.  Its full darkness again, no sign of the person from earlier or the objects that were being thrown at him.  Besides him and the dull ache from the mysterious hail, there’s nothing but emptiness now.

Maybe not complete emptiness, though.  There’s a sense of movement surrounding him.  When Marco looks up, there’s nothing to see, but whenever he lowers his eyes the motion returns.  He can feel eyes upon his skin, a sense of _expectation_ in their observation, but he doesn’t know who they are or what they want.

The ground has evened out again, but there’s still something sharp under Marco’s right palm.  Though the darkness is so overwhelming Marco can barely see his own fingers, somehow he can clearly see the shape of an ornate skeleton key in his hand.  It almost glitters in the absence of light and Marco can’t help but reach out and trace the many lines and curves of its surface.  As he does so, there’s an awakening of voices in the shadows around him.

“Marco,” a voice calls, a voice Marco could swear he’s never heard before.  Yet at the same time, the call of his name sounds like a warm smile, soft and intimate like he’s known them forever.  Marco has no idea who’s calling to him, but in his gut he _knows_ they know him.

The same voice calls his name again, but this time that happy smiling tone is gone, replaced with a more urgent, fearful, sound.  Like someone who’s lost in the dark, reaching out for him.  Marco searches his surroundings, but though he still feels like there’s movement circling him, he can’t find the source of the voice.  Their concern is so contagious that a small part of him wants to cry out to them, but he doesn’t know how.

He finally opens his mouth to say something along the lines of “I’m here,” but his tongue feels too dry in his mouth, like a wad of cotton clogging his throat, and he can’t speak.

Now, there are other voices joining the first.  None of them are familiar, but they all are emotional and strangely intimate.  None of the voices seem to call with the same emotion at any one time, overlapping calls of his name in anger, fear, happiness, concern, all at once.  Then they switch, the voice that was angry becomes scared, the fearful one happy, the happy one guilty.  There’s so much emotion that Marco’s heart can't catch up, pounding in his chest loudly but he can’t tell what the sensation means.  

The voices are crowding him, smothering him.  It’s so claustrophobic that he can’t breathe.

Then, without warning, the voices stop.  And it's the silence that is truly deafening.  It makes his ears ring and his head ache.

His surroundings seem even darker than before, and it feels like it's swallowing him.  The only light comes from the key in his hand and it feels like its _burning,_ searing the shape into his skin.  Eventually the pain becomes too much to bear and Marco lets it drop, letting the darkness envelop him completely.

Marco wakes with a start, hands flying to hold his aching head.  He pulls away to look at the palm of his hand, but the only lingering marks are the red crescents from where he was clenching his hand tightly in his sleep.  Panic makes his breath come in harsh pants.  Before he can calm his breathing, he feels bile and last night’s pizza rise in this throat and he uneasily stumbles to the bathroom.

After a few deep breathing exercises, Marco manages to get himself back under control.  He would brush the lingering fear aside by telling himself is was just a dream, but Marco _doesn’t_ dream, not really.  There were many nights that were blessedly quiet, where the most he would experience would be short glimpses of faces and places he’d one day see.  The more intense visions were few and far between, but even so, that was one of the worst ones he’s had.

If only his mother were here.  Marina Bodt understood more about the whole clairvoyance thing than he did.  From what she had mentioned, Marco could tell that her visions were far more lucid and controlled than his were.  

Marco groans and pulls himself to his feet to stumble over to his next best resource.  The thick deck of cards were resting on the nightstand where he set them the night before.  He settled down and started shuffling.  The cards were old and worn, passed down to him in one of his mother’s attempts to help him develop more control over his intuition.  She often gave him disappointed looks when he didn’t use the more complicated layouts, but it _was_ to help his intuition and Marco didn’t like getting confused by multiple cards at once.  So she never actually said anything about his tendency to meditate on only one tarot card at a time.

Images from his dream come to him as he shuffles, directing his thoughts and the cards until he eventually stops and draws.

“Nine of Swords,” he sighs, looking at the image of a man sitting up in bed cradling his head in his hands, much like Marco had himself when he first awoke.   _Anxiety and fear, huh,_ he purses his mouth as he studies the card, _I knew that much.  That doesn’t tell me anything new._ He slips the card back in the deck with resignation before setting the tarot box back down.

He groans in frustration, running his hands through his already mussed hair. _Well sitting here dwelling over it won’t do anything good.  Might as well look around Trost,_ he reasons. So Marco tries to brush away the intense yet fleeting images still trying to wash over him, quickly throwing  on jeans, a shirt, and a light jacket.  He lingers by the dresser for a moment before finally slipping the tarot card box in his jacket pocket.

Upon stepping through the doorway to leave, the crisp morning air fills his lungs and makes him feel immediately better, even if only slightly.  Just as his heart is beginning to rise from its dread, however, he nearly trips over something underfoot.

Just like that, his timid hope falls again.  On the step outside of his motel room is a small, neatly wrapped parcel.  The only marking on the thick brown paper is a simple “M. Bodt” written in curly cursive letters.

A new kind of worry begins to chew at his insides.  No one was supposed to know where he is.  There was absolutely no reason for anyone to even think of looking for him in Trost.  And yet here this is, waiting for him.

He resignedly unlocks the door and retreats back inside his motel room, package tucked securely under his arm.  As he closes the door behind him, Marco cautiously runs his fingertips over the old paper.  The parcel is neatly tied closed with thin twine in a knot that easily comes undone with a gentle tug.

Bile once again returns to his throat as he slowly unwraps the paper, revealing a sickeningly familiar image:  a small iron skeleton key that is identical to the one that nearly seared his skin during his dreams.  It seems much smaller in person, only as long as half of his index finger and as thin as bone.  His hands begin to shake and Marco lets the thin piece of metal slip through his fingers, falling with a soft thump to the cheap carpet.

Marco fumbles with the door, rushing out of the room without a second look at the mysterious item laying on the floor.  Within a few minutes, Marco is safely locked in his truck, trying to push back panic for the fifth time that morning.  Something strange is going on and Marco is no way capable to deal with it on his own.  He needs help.  He needs _guidance._ Marco practically tears his deck out of his pocket, fumbling in his haste to get the box open.

“Come on, help me,” he urges as his fingers, clumsy with nerves, attempt to mix the cards.  Some of the cards nearly escape his hands to fall among his feet.  “What do I do?” he breathes as he selects a card from the top of the deck.

Marco tries to steady his breathing as he looks at the card:  King of Swords.  He furrows his brow and closes his eyes, thinking about the card and the forceful energy it represents.  Sometimes he could induce meditative visions with his mother’s tarot deck, and he needed this to be one of those times.

Behind the darkness of his closed eyelids, Marco can feel images tingle in the back of his mind.  He can catch glimpses of a man with steel grey eyes and an aura that exudes a dark mysterious strength.  Marco wonders who on earth it could be and how he could help him, when the picture changes.  Without warning, the dark eyes melt into brighter amber ones, replacing the unknown figure with a slightly more familiar one.  As Marco views the image of the strange young man from the pizza place, he can’t help but question how he could be involved.  What had he seen when he touched Marco?  Was it the same as his dream?

Marco waits for more information, but the images slowly fade away to the simple darkness of his closed eyelids. Looks like that’s all the information he will be getting anytime soon.  He frowns as he sets the card back in the deck.  Searching an unfamiliar town for two strangers wouldn’t be easy.  Actually, it’s near impossible, especially when considering the overwhelming size of Trost.

Before the doubt can overwhelm him, Marco gives each cheek a light slap in an attempt to distract himself from his sense of defeat.   _Thinking negatively will just make things worse,_ he chides himself _._  He takes a deep steadying breath and turns his key in the ignition.  He remembers seeing a small coffee shop a few streets over.  Hopefully he can get some tea to settle his nerves.

With thoughts of the soothing drink in mind, Marco drives the three streets over to a small shop in between a bookstore and a print shop.  The awning is cheerful, but classic, red and white striped, and above it there is a black sign with white cursive spelling out the name, “ _The Daily Grind.”_ As he pushes open the door, Marco is greeted by the warm, comforting smell of roasting coffee beans and the sight of cosy brown wood furniture with red and dark orange cushions.

The small but trendily decorated shop surprisingly isn’t very busy for a Monday morning, but Marco figures that the rush must have peaked a couple of hours earlier.  After a short wait in line at the counter, Marco places his order, only smiling in response to the cashier’s strange look at his order of chamomile tea at 9 a.m.  

As Marco waits for his drink, he notices what is quickly becoming a familiar face wander through the door.  Like the night before, the man is dressed in an oversized sweatshirt, red this time, and slim fitting jeans.  The stranger walks up to the counter and orders a cappuccino, seemingly unaware of Marco, or at least not recognizing him outside of his rumpled dress clothes.

Marco feels the slight stirring of hope in his chest, and decides that there’s no way he’s letting this opportunity escape him.  The other man reaches into his back pocket to grab his wallet, but Marco waves his hand to catch the cashier’s attention first.

“I can cover it,” Marco smiles, meeting the other customer’s eyes.  The blond seems to finally recognize him, jaw dropping for a few seconds.  He manages to steel himself again and tries to refute the offer, but Marco has already handed the cash over.  The cashier visibly perks with interest, taking her time in opening the register and sorting Marco’s change, far more engaged in glancing from one young man to the other than in handling the cash.  Marco tries to give the guy a relaxed smile, but the other remains as stiff and surprised as he was before.

Another employee gives Marco his tea in a to-go cup, but he stays where he is against the counter.  “I was hoping to run into you again,” he supplies honestly to the man beside him, “there’s something I wanna talk to you about.”

The other man’s response is to give him a look as though he was forced to swallow a lemon at knifepoint.  His body language is still rigid, but now there is a sense of urgent energy within him, as if he’s considering ditching his coffee and making a break for the door.

When the barista approaches with his drink, Marco smoothly intercepts it with his left hand before gesturing to the door with it.  “Just a moment of your time,” Marco smiles again, trying to keep his shoulders back and his body language open and friendly.

The other man furrows his brows and frowns at him, but does seem to relax somewhat.  “Fine then,” he shrugs and turns on his heel, leading them toward the shop door.

Marco sighs in relief and quickly follows, noticing the cashier give him a thumbs up out of the corner of his eye.  When he catches up with him, Marco finds the other man standing in front of the main window of the shop, his arms crossed over his chest protectively.

“So, I’m Marco,” he begins, holding out the hot cappuccino as a peace offering.  

“Okay,” the guy frowns, well _continues_ frowning.  Actually, he hasn’t stopped frowning since Marco first talked to him.  He makes no move to take the cup from Marco’s outstretched hand, or to offer his name in return.  The man simply raises an eyebrow at Marco as though willing him to hurry and get to the point.

So he does.

“What did you see yesterday?” Marco blurts.

“What?”  The blond is visibly taken aback by the question and uneasily takes a small step backward.

“You had a vision, right?” Once the words start escaping over his tongue, they just trip over each other on their way out of Marco’s mouth.  “When you touched my arm last night.”  Now he can see the man’s face visibly contort into one of complete panic.

“I have visions too,” Marco adds hastily, trying to provide enough common ground to put him at ease, “And I had a bad one last night and I was wondering--”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man cuts Marco off mid-sentence, giving him a harsh glare in order to keep Marco from continuing his rambling, “And I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me the hell alone,”  His stance has shifted from uneasy to aggressive and Marco can’t help but falter.

He _knows_ the other man is lying, but then again he’s only a stranger to him.  He can’t make him trust him and he certainly can't make him help him.

“At least take your coffee,” Marco sighs in defeat, holding out the cup out even further away from himself, “And, um, have a nice day.”

This time, the cup is begrudgingly accepted and Marco finally is able to turn and slump back to his truck.  His sense of defeat returns abruptly, wrapping him in a deep sense of worry that dampens his awareness of his surroundings, making him feel like he’s surrounded by fog.   _So much for finding help,_ he sighs.

There’s a vague sound of thudding steps behind him and a call of “stop,” but Marco is already stepping into the crosswalk that leads to the parking lot across the street.  He’s embarrassed at his lack of tact, just his overall defeat, and there’s no way he’s going to stop and turn around now.

There’s a harsh honk of a truck horn to his left and next thing Marco knows he’s lying flat on his back on the sidewalk, the breath knocked out of his lungs.

The truck blares its horn at him a second time as it speeds by.  Dazedly, Marco watches where the truck fully emerges past the overgrown trees lining the street.  The branches obscure a large area of the single lane road, and Marco can’t help but wonder if the city knows just what a potential hazard these trees have become.

“I told you to stop,” a voice pants out angrily, as the blond glares at him from where he’s kneeling over him.  “Why didn’t you stop?”

Marco’s breathing feels harsh and his brain doesn’t seem to be keeping up.  The other man is in front of him, but Marco’s vision cannot fully focus on his shape, instead blearily peering past him at the bushy trees.  “Stop,” he whispers to himself, trying to piece together his lagging thoughts.  He feels the sudden click as things shift to focus and he turns to make eye contact with the other man, eyes narrowing in realization.  “But if _I_ couldn’t see it, then how did you?”

The other man clenches his jaw and lets out a frustrated sigh.  “The cup,” he mumbles, gesturing at the two spilled cardboard cups littering the opposite sides of the pavement.  (Marco can’t help but sigh as he remembers he never did get to try his tea.)  “When you passed me the cup, I saw… you getting hit.”

Despite the threat upon his life, Marco feels true relief for the first time since his arrival in Trost.  Since before that, even.  “So,” he breathes, the ghost of a smile haunting his lips, “do you think we can talk about those _visions_ again.”

* * *

 

“So do you always get people to come back to your hotel room like this?” the blond man gripes.

“Do you always knock strangers off their feet?”  Marco retorts, peeking over at the surly man in his passenger seat.  The man keeps frowning but the lift in his brow seems to indicate that he concedes Marco’s point.  “You never did tell me your name by the way.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh of defeat before softly muttering, “It's Jean.”

“Well, Jean, it’s nice to meet you,” Marco gives him a brief smile before focusing back on the road in front of him, “Hopefully we can help each other out a little.”

Jean simply grunts next to him in response.  It seems like Marco still has to work to convince the man to trust him enough to help him.

“So you saw a vision when you touched the coffee cup?  Is that how they normally work for you?”

“Hey,” the other man growls, glaring in suspicion, “I thought you got ‘visions’ too.  Shouldn’t you know how they work?”

The sudden skepticism flusters Marco, making him anxious to quell the new doubts before the man demands to be let out of the vehicle.  “Well, mine work a little differently.  I get visions of the future instead of dreams.  Most of them are fairly mundane, like places I’ll travel to or conversations I’ll have in the next few days.  For the most part they’re pretty brief.  But last night… was longer and more intense than I’m used to.”  Marco feels a frown overtake his previously hopeful expression as he thinks about it again.  It really _had_ been strange, different from what he was used to.  He can only hope that it was a fluke, and not a sign that the visions themselves are becoming more intense and overwhelming.

“My mom had future visions too, but she could use meditation to sort through them and get more insight into what the images meant.  Mine are usually more like the flash on a camera.  It brings one single image into focus before it erodes away, maybe with another picture occurring soon after it.”

When Marco hazarded another glimpse at Jean, he was pleased to see that a hint of interest had replaced his earlier impassive expression.  Maybe giving the man information was the best way to get any from him in return.  

Honestly, Marco had never talked so blatantly about his clairvoyance to anyone except his mother before, especially a stranger.  But now that he was alone and his mother was gone, he needed all the help he could get.

Marco lets a few minutes of silence go by between them as he continues to drive, letting Jean take in his words.

“I… I’ve never met someone who, uh, could understand what I see,” Jean finally whispers into the quiet atmosphere between them.  “When I touch objects sometimes, I get one of those, um, _flashes_ you mentioned.  The length of the image depends on how long I touch the item; the picture goes away when I lose contact.  Sometimes… I think the visions come from the past too?  It sounds stupid, but there are some things I see that only make sense if they came from the past before I touched it.  And some are from after, like with the cup.”

Marco hums in interest.  His mother theorized that powers like theirs probably weren’t as uncommon as one might think, but this is the first time he’d met someone his age with powers.  And they sure are _interesting_ powers.

“No one understood, so I stopped talking about it,” Jean barks out a rueful laugh and shrugs his shoulders in an attempt to be nonchalant, “I try to avoid touching things, especially in public, as much as possible.  People assume I’m germaphobic.  Which isn’t too far from the truth, I guess.  I do get to see some of the gross things people do before they touch things, which is really freaking disgusting sometimes.  You would not _believe_ some of the things I’ve seen.”

Marco lets the man beside him ramble for a little while. Jean’s posture has even opened up, his back is now relaxed against the seatrest and his legs have stretched out in the ample floor space.  The man gestures  with his hands while he talks instead of tucking his arms against his body or in his pockets like he had earlier.  There’s the tiniest of smiles on his lips as he unwinds, telling Marco about things he’s probably hardly ever talked about before.  It’s obvious that this is the first time the other man has ever felt like someone could understand him and the words gush out like he’ll never get another chance to talk to anyone else about his visions.  To be fair, now that Marco’s mother has passed, he can sort of relate.  Its _nice_ to just listen and commiserate with someone else, even someone who’s hardly more than a stranger.

Jean only stops talking when Marco cuts the engine outside of his motel room.

Marco turns to fully look at him now that he’s no longer driving.  The smile on his face isn’t as relaxed or as natural as it had been a few seconds earlier, because even in this nice moment, there’s a kind of dread hanging over the place Marco had driven away from earlier.  “Do you mind touching something for me?  Your visions might be just the thing I need.”

Jean freezes up, nervousness overtaking him once again.  Despite the physical tenseness of his body, he still laughs and remarks, “Oh, so you need my special touch?  I should have assumed as much, what with you taking me back to your place and all.”  Marco releases a nervous laugh, relieved that the other man hasn’t retreated completely back into his protective shell of indifference.  

Yet at the same time, Marco’s anxiety spikes as he notices the crumpled brown paper and its key lying on the floor where he left it, and he fumbles with the motel key and nearly drops it too.

He lets Jean in before himself.  The other man’s eyes immediately lock on the iron key on the ground, pinpointing the source of Marco’s unease.  “I don't want to know why you threw it on the ground and left it there, but it really doesn’t make me want to touch it.”

“Yeah…,” Marco sighs, still reluctant to pick the key up his own damn self.  “You can um, take a seat if you want.”

Jean makes himself comfortable on the large double bed, or as comfortable as he can be while meticulously avoiding touching the fabric of the bedsheets with any part of his skin.   _I don’t even want to think about the visions he can see from a hotel bed,_ Marco grimaces at the thought.  Marco tries to keep the key in the brown paper as much as he can, paranoid that if he touches it he could make the images worse somehow.  He stands in front of the other man and nervously holds it out to him.  

Like every time Marco has offered an item to Jean, the man hesitates before taking it into his own hands.  Now that Marco knows why, he completely understands.  It’s the same reason why he himself stays up exceedingly late sometimes.  You never know what you will see.   _Huh,_ Marco wonders absently, _he never did say what he saw when he touched my sleeve, but it doesn’t seem to have been involving the key particularly.  He’d surely recognize it._

After a few moments in which Jean seems to mentally prepare himself, he carefully slips the key out of the paper and holds it fully in his palms.

Marco hadn’t expected to be able to visibly see a difference in the man as soon as the vision started, but that’s exactly what happens.  Jean’s posture stiffens rigidly and his hand clenches around the key.  His eyes widen and glaze over, much like they had the night before.

Unlike the night before, those eyes close and Jean’s body suddenly collapses back on the bed, nearly dropping the small key upon his chest.

Marco hurries over to look at the man, holding a hand to the pulse in his neck before raising it to pull back an eyelid.  The man is unconscious.  Marco feels a deep pit of worry gnaw at his stomach.  Something is deeply wrong here.  Jean hadn’t mentioned anything about fainting before.  Plus, Marco didn’t know what to do with fainted people.  Did his mother keep smelling salts?  Did he still have any, if she did?

Instead of leaving Jean alone in the motel room in order to rummage through the boxes still locked under the cap of his pickup, Marco decides to soak a washcloth in cold water in the bathroom sink.  He gently brushes it over Jean’s forehead in the hopes that it will help revive him, even a little.  After a few gentle brushes against pale skin, the other man’s eyes begin to mercifully flutter open.  Jean groans and Marco leans back to give him space to breathe.  His own heart is hammering in concern and fear about what could possibly be happening.

Jean seems dazed at first and he slowly blinks as he gets his bearings back.  When he first looks at Marco, he seems eerily calm, at complete odds with how he had been before.  His eyes seem unfocused, and Marco worries that the man is still in his trance, even though he dropped the key minutes ago.

“Are you okay?” Marco asks cautiously.  At the question, Jean blinks and his earlier anxious countenance returns.

“I...” he murmurs, his brows furrowing as he thinks back on his vision, “I can’t help you.”  He hurriedly tries to stand up only to stumble and fall backwards onto the bed.

Marco reaches to grab Jean’s shoulder, not entirely sure himself if he’s trying to comfort the other man or keep him still long enough to explain what on earth is going on.  Maybe it’s a mix of both.  Jean slides out of his touch easily, however, and staggers uneasily to the door.  “It was too much at once.  Too many image flashes mixing together.”

Marco stands as Jean reaches the door, but he doesn’t walk any closer.  That earlier look of pity has returned to Jean’s face and there’s a wet sheen in his eyes when he speaks again.  “I’ve been running from my visions all my life.  I can’t interpret them now.”

“I can try to help you.  Let’s talk about it, instead of running away from them again,” Marco pleads, already resigned to the idea that maybe he _will_ have to deal with this all on his own.

Jean doesn’t look back as he opens the door and takes a step outside.  “Why stop running now,” he sighs over his shoulder before gently closing the door behind him.

Marco feels tears brim unbidden as he loses what hope he had.  The king of swords seemed to promise him help, but maybe it was wrong.  Maybe Jean wasn’t connected to the card at all.  Even if Jean _could_ help him, it didn’t mean he _would._

Marco isn’t sure how long he sat there before there was a sudden harsh rap at the door.  Could Jean have decided to come back?  Who else could it be?  Marco hastily rubs at his face.  He had already stopped crying, but he was sure his skin was still red and raw under his eyes.  How embarrassing it would be if Jean found out what a crybaby he was.

Despite his embarrassment, Marco can't help but smile as he threw open the door.  “Jean!” he exclaims in relief that maybe they could work together after all.

“Guess again.”  The man standing at the door is much shorter and possibly even surlier than Jean, with dark hooded eyes and a deeply-set scowl.  He walks right past Marco into the motel room, appraising both the space and Marco himself.  

“You look like shit.”  The man is deadpan as he speaks, honest but not overly harsh in his statement.  He picks up the small key from where it was laying amongst the slightly ruffled bedclothes and holds it up to his face, peering at it inquisitively.  “And I think your boy troubles might be the least of your problems.”

“Um, who are you?”  Marco closes the door before vaguely realizing that maybe that’s actually an incredibly stupid idea; enclosing himself in his room with a forceful stranger that invited himself inside.  

 _Wait…  forceful man.. King of swords?_  Marco looks up to see the man glaring at him appraisingly.  The onyx eyes boring into him are suddenly recognizable, they were the ones that morphed into Jean’s amber eyes in his morning meditation.

“The name’s Levi.”  Though the man is short, he certainly doesn’t seem small.  In fact the man was one of the most intimidating that Marco had met.  His eyes almost look haunted, with dark shadows underneath that could rival a badger, yet still bore into Marco as though he’s being visually dissected.

“I know a lot about you Marco, and the situation you’ve found yourself in,” Levi states, walking up to stand directly in front of Marco from where he remained by the door.  Even though Marco has a solid eight inches of height on the other man, the intensity with which he’s being stared at makes him want to look away. “Maybe more than you know yourself.”

It’s absurd, but Marco almost wants to laugh.   _It’s certainly not hard to know more when I have no idea what’s going on._

“How did you know where to find me?”  Marco asks, realizing that he probably needs to find a way to know more about what the hell is going on, instead of laughing at his own cluelessness.

“Your mother sent me,” Levi shrugs, walking away from him again to hold the key closer to the floor lamp against the wall.

Marco can’t help but pause at that.  There's something in the confidence in which Levi says it that seems almost recent.  Besides, even Marco didn’t know he’d end up in Trost.  Would his mother have known?

“My mother is dead,” Marco whispers gravely, examining the mysterious man in his motel room.

“It would have been a little harder for her to find me if she wasn’t.”  Levi doesn’t bat an eye at his own words, in fact they slip from his tongue easily, as though he’s said similar things many times before.

Marco gapes at him in confusion.  Before he can find a better question than “what the hell?”, his stomach growls, drawing attention to the fact that he hasn't actually eaten all day.

Levi casually rewraps the key in its brown paper and sets it in the top drawer of the nightstand.  “Come on.  I can at least feed you while you ask questions.”  He walks out of the room and to the driver’s side door of Marco’s truck, holding his hand out expectantly for the keys.  Marco simply follows in his wake.  It has been a truly intense day, and it's barely noon.  

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the quaint little family diner Levi parked in front of wasn’t it.  Levi puts the truck in park, shuts off the engine, and climbs out the driver’s door, leaving Marco to scramble to unhook his seatbelt and stumble out so the other man can lock the doors.  Yet, Levi is apparently still not done with Marco’s keys, since he continues to hold on to them as he leads the way into the restaurant.

The inside of the place is just as warm and inviting as the outside made it seem.  There are framed photographs of local sites cluttering the walls.  Among them are smaller photos in mismatching frames of smiling people that Marco can’t help but wonder about.   _They can’t all be family, can they?  Maybe the families of employees?  What’s it like to be in touch with that many people?  For as long as I can remember, it's basically just been Mom and me._ A tiny part of him wonders what kind of happy memories Jean could catch a glimpse of if he made contact with the cheerful photos.

Marco lingers by the counter, waiting for a server to come by and notice them, but Levi strides past him to settle into a plush pleather booth in the far corner.  Marco peeks around the counter, but doesn’t see any sign of employees, so he timidly joins Levi and sits across from him.  The bench is lumpy and partially held together by ancient red duct tape, but it's still surprisingly comfortable and Marco can’t help but sink into the cushion.

Levi is calmly twirling Marco’s keys around his index finger.  The strange assortment of keys clink together with each rotation.  The truck and the motel room keys both dwarf the multitude of tiny ones from the different suitcases and storage trunks his mother had accumulated throughout the years and stacked in the truck bed.

Marco doesn’t realize he’s staring until Levi suddenly looks up and meets his eyes.  “What are you waiting for?  I thought you were going to ask questions,” he asks impassively, finally breaking the silence between them.

Marco is taken aback by the man’s casual attitude about the whole situation.  Since Marco has met him, he’s walked as though he owns Trost, with no sign of hesitation or trepidation in any of his actions.  Levi also seems no stranger to strange conversations, and this, at least, gives Marco a little comfort.  “How did my mother contact you, exactly?”

The left corner of the man’s mouth quirks upward in amusement at the question and he lets out a wry chuckle.  “Just diving right into the main issue.  I like that.”  He waves a hand above Marco’s head as he adds, “I need coffee before I answer that though.”

He’s summoned a waitress from seemingly nowhere and she’s at the end of their table before Marco can blink.  “Good afternoon, Levi,” she chirps brightly.  She casually brushes back a lock of red hair before pulling a pen and a pad of paper from her apron.  “The usual?”

Levi barely nods before she starts writing and turns her attention to Marco.  “Who’s this?” she asks with genuine curiosity.  Marco’s beginning to wonder if despite its size, Trost is the kind of town where everyone knows everyone else.

“He’s new in town, so he’s going to need a menu,” Levi answers simply.

“Hi, I’m Marco,” Marco smiles.  

“I’m Petra.”  The smile he gets in return is bright and cheery, almost a reflection of the diner itself.  “I hope you’re liking Trost so far!  Let me know if you have any questions!  Levi here probably forgot how to have fun, so all he can tell you about is the old boring parts of town.”  She gives Marco a conspiratory wink, which Levi totally notices.  He declines to comment, only in raising an indignant eyebrow in response.

She quickly grabs Marco a menu from the counter, but she doesn’t leave once she gives it to him.  Instead, she remains by the table and has a casual conversation with Levi.  They’re probably about ten years apart in age and as different in temperament as humanly possible, but here they are, chatting like they’ve known each other their whole lives.   _Maybe they have.  Maybe it's a Trost thing.  Maybe it's a staying in one place thing,_ Marco muses curiously.

“So when do you go back to school, Petra?”

“Actually, it started up the last week of August.  I’m working through the semester, because tuition went up again.”

“Don’t work too hard, though.”  The novel _concern_ Marco hears in Levi’s voice makes him peek up from the laminated menu.

Petra, on the other hand, waves off his concern like she’d heard it a million times before.   _Maybe she has._ “Yeah, yeah like you’re one to talk.  You’re always working.  I bet you’re working right now.”  

Levi rolls his eyes at her response, but doesn’t argue.   _Wait_ is _he working now?  What exactly does he do?_ Marco wonders. To be sure, everything Levi has done screams familiarity, as though, even as strange as the current situation is, he’s gone through it many many times before.

“You know your father told me to look out for you,” Levi finally answers, “and you know he always worried about you working too hard.”

The way Petra’s eyes soften at the mention of her father makes Marco acutely aware that once again he’s hearing a personal conversation he probably shouldn’t.  Just as he ducks to hide back behind the menu, Levi catches him.  “I think Marco’s ready to order.”

“Oh, of course!  What can I get for you?” Petra’s voice has lost its personal touch and shifted to a professional, well practiced, practically ingrained tone.  Marco tries--and fails--to not feel guilty about it.

“Water and um, a grilled cheese with tomato soup, please,” Marco supplies, hating the timidity in his voice.

“Coming right up.”  This time, she writes the order quickly and promptly hurries off toward the kitchen.

Marco turns back to find Levi watching him with a contemplative face.  “Petra’s working to put herself through medical school.  She’s also a lab tech on the side,” he supplies mildly.

Marco nods, wondering why Levi is telling him this.  “Sounds like a lot,” he mumbles.  He doesn’t have much personal experience with college courses himself, but he knows that it takes a lot of hard work and dedication, especially to keep going after undergrad.  

For Marco, finishing public school was hard enough with how often they moved around--in fact, Marco thinks he’s probably been to at least 16 different schools in his lifetime.  Staying in one place to finish one full semester was just asking too much most of the time.  He did have a buildup of a few credits though, from when he had the opportunity to take a class here or there at community colleges while he had the time and money during their travels.

“It is, and it makes her father extremely worried.  I do understand it though.”  Once again, there’s a conflict of tenses when Levi talks and the calm assuredness with which he does it that makes Marco pause and remember what they were originally talking about.  Even before he can voice this thought, Levi already seems to know and holds up his index finger.  “Coffee first, remember.”

As if summoned again, Petra appears, placing a glass of water in front of Marco and pot of coffee and a mug in front of Levi.  “Food will be out shortly,” she chirps before scurrying away to the back room.

“That’s better.”  Levi pours himself a cup and takes a sip before looking back at Marco.  “You didn’t think you’re the only person who doesn’t dream in the conventional way, did you?”

Marco can feel his jaw drop.  His curiosity about the man was pretty high before, but now its through the roof.

“So, umm…”

“Honestly it's sort of hard to explain.  I have an acquaintance who studies these things and they describe it as my psyche opening up in my sleep.  I don’t get visions of the future, like you do, but my mind becomes like a beacon for the dead, one of the few outlets into the realm of the living.  More often than not, I get asked to be a messenger.”

He pauses for a moment and considers Marco before taking another sip of his coffee.  “Sometimes I can be pretty blunt about the messages, like now.  Other times I have to be more subtle about things.”

Petra chooses this moment to return with their food.  Marco is surprised to see that Levi’s regular appears to be sugary french toast decorated with fresh fruit.  Levi just waves off Marco’s confusion.  “Petra’s boyfriend might be an idiot, but he makes pretty good french toast.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!”  Petra splutters, her face turning as bright as her hair.  Her mouth twists into a frown, but the corners of her lips curl up ever so slightly before she groans and covers her face with her hands.

“No, but he wants to be,” Levi shrugs, cutting off a bit sized piece.  “You just have to decide if you want to date him or not.  Oh, and tell him the next time I catch him impersonating me, I’ll kick his ass.”

She grumbles something about “old men needing to mind their own business” before marching back into the back room.

Once again, Marco is left trying to wrap his mind around Levi.   _There sure are interesting people in Trost,_ he muses before trying to regain their conversation.  “So, um Petra’s dad?”

Levi sighs and looks over at a nearby photo--which on closer inspection, Marco realizes is of a young, possibly middle school aged Petra and a middle aged man with a kind face and deeply set laughter lines.  “He was a good man.  Did a lot of work for the community ‘round here.  Passed away about two years ago.  He visits me about once a month worrying that Petra will overwork herself and telling me to keep an eye on the Bossard boy.”

He looks back at Marco with a small frown.  “Now that I think about it, most of the time I’m asked to be a babysitter for other people’s children and grandchildren.”  His frown deepens as he notices Marco’s untouched plate. “Eat.”

Marco nods and takes a bite of his sandwich, humming with happiness at the warm comfort food.   _He complains about it, but acting like a parent sure does seem to come to him like second nature,_ Marco thinks.

“So did Mom tell you about the key?  What did she say?”  Marco asks once he’s taken what Levi seems to deem a suitable number of bites.

Levi cuts himself a new piece of toast and eats it, taking his time to chew and swallow before he answers.  “She just said she was worried about her clairvoyant son Marco and had a feeling something troubling is on the horizon.  There’s something she was given for safe-keeping that needs to be handed over to its rightful owner.  She didn’t mention a key specifically.”

Marco frowned.  “That key was left outside my doorstep this morning.  That wasn’t you, was it?  I mean, no one else has found me so far.”

“Nope, sorry kid.”  Levi drains his mug and pours himself another cup, leaving Marco to idly wonder just how many he’s had during the span of their conversation.  “All I can tell you right now is that something troubling is looming.”  The older man’s face clouds over for a moment before he shrugs it off and finishes his meal.  “I’ll see if your mother contacts me again tonight and gives me any more insight.  In the meantime, you should take the rest of today to relax.”

“Huh,” Marco retorts.  Relaxing seems like a tall order after being told there might be potential danger in the future.

But Levi just frowns at him again, folding his arms in front of his chest.  “You’re young and nothing is dire.  When else are you going to enjoy yourself?”

He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and opens it.  “Oi, Petra,” he calls and she answers, back to her earlier bubbly self,  “I’m paying for both of us and whatever’s left is your tip.”  He passes Petra a thick bundle of bills and she immediately tries to give him some of the cash back, saying he’s being too generous, when he distracts her by adding, “Give Marco some ideas of something fun to do tonight.  Cuz I’m too old for that, after all.

“And you,” Levi turns to Marco and hands him a business card and his keys--Marco had nearly forgotten the man still had them-- “contact me tomorrow.”  With that, he saunters out.

“Don’t mind Levi,” Petra says, “he’s always like that.  If he acts too nice then he feels the need to scurry off and be alone for a while.”  She cheerfully writes a list of local attractions and entertainment on the back of his receipt.

For the rest of the day, Marco decides to actually follow their advice.  He visits local tourist sites and even treats himself to a movie.  It’s nice to try and do normal things and push away thoughts of mysterious near-strangers and secrets locked deep within his mother’s old trunks.

Surprisingly, the distraction works well, to the point that Marco realizes only as he’s getting ready for bed that he never did look at the business card Levi gave him.  He fishes it out of his jeans’ pocket and looks at it.

It’s a stark white card with simple black lettering.  In blocky text it reads Trost Pawn above the much smaller letters of the name Levi Ackerman.

* * *

 

The next morning, Marco awakes much more calmly than he had the day before.  Some of the troubling images still haunted him in his sleep, like the key and a phantom burst of pain in his temple, but those images are at least equalled out by recognizable faces that offered reassurance.  Levi was a prominent figure and though Marco knew he didn’t actually know very much about the man at all, the aura of nonchalance and confidence he exudes gave him a sense of comfort.

For a short moment, Marco had also caught a glimpse of Jean too.  All he had really caught was the soft whisper of “I’m sorry,” but it was enough to make an odd sense of hope nest in Marco’s gut, knowing that there might still be a chance that Jean would decide to help them.

Marco showers and gets ready for the day, wondering when he should actually call Levi.  He hadn’t mentioned a time exactly and strangely enough there aren’t business hours on his card.   As he’s getting dressed, there’s a knock at the door that breaks him away from his thoughts.   _ Guess Levi decided to come here himself.  It must be urgent. _

To say that Marco is surprised would be an understatement when he opens the door to find not Levi, but Jean standing on the other side.  His long sleeves are pulled down over his knuckles so he could knock without touching the door directly.  Between the sleeves, the disheveled hair as though he just rolled out of bed, and the timid look in Jean’s eyes, Marco has to fight back the sudden thought of “cute” that smacks him in the face in the middle of his shocked silence.

“Look,”  Jean mumbles, looking down at his stretched-out sleeves instead of anywhere near Marco, “ I know I acted rudely yesterday and you probably don’t want me back here.  I just… wanted to apologize.”  

Marco is still in awe that Jean is back, let alone apologizing, and his silence seems to make the other man more visibly nervous, so Jean stumbles on.  “I, uh, dreamed about you last night.  Not in a creepy way!  Just, you were in my dream, and when I woke up I realized, well you don’t get to escape the visions.  I can cover my skin and I can avoid it, but whenever you sleep those visions come to you.  And I mean, you’re not as bitter about it as I am and that’s not fair, you know?  And--”

Marco doesn’t mean to laugh, but once he does, he can’t seem to stop. He’s just so relieved and so happy because he’s getting help.  People are willing to help him and he doesn’t have to deal with everything alone.  Hope feels light and bubbly in his stomach, almost to the point of being overwhelming.

Marco finally manages to wipe his eyes and take a deep breath to see that Jean’s face has fallen and his posture has more deeply sunken in on itself.  It’s only now that Marco realizes that he hasn’t actually  _ said  _ anything yet.

“Of course you’re forgiven!”  Marco exclaims, “It was an awful lot to ask of you, especially when we’re basically strangers.”  He sighs and scratches the back of his head sheepishly.  “I was just… relieved you came back, to be honest.  It’s … nice to have someone to even just relate…--Oh!”

Marco breaks off to hurry back into the motel room to the nightstand where he had placed the business card, leaving Jean to cautiously follow after him.  “I met someone else who can help too!”  Marco’s grin hurts his cheeks, but he’s too excited to care.  He gleefully hands the card to Jean, who regards it with caution that turns into shock before his eyes.

“Wait, Levi Ackerman?”

“Yeah,” Marco smiles, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Are you telling me that Levi Ackerman, surly, short, and silent, has funky psychic powers?”  With each word, Jean’s voice raises in pitch, colored with incredulity.  

“Um, yeah,” Marco replies, his excitement slowly bleeding away at Jean’s reaction.

“What the shit,” Jean breathes out slowly, trying vainly to make amends to his rapidly changing understanding of Trost.

“Um, yeah, he told me to call him today,” Marco mumbles, suddenly uncertain.

There’s a few moments of silence between them as Jean considers the card, making Marco more and more nervous about what he knows about Levi.

“Why don’t we just go?  I can show you how to get there.”  Determination fills Jean now, curiosity finally winning out against his confusion.

Well, that wasn’t what Marco expected, but he certainly isn’t going to reject the offer.  Not now when he’s closer to help and understanding than he’s ever been before.

On the drive to the pawnshop, which was littered with little detours as Jean distracted himself by suddenly remembering to tell Marco about local places of interest as they drove nearby, Marco tried to give Jean a basic understanding of what exactly had gone down after he’d left the day before.

As they parked outside of the small grey building, Jean was still grumbling about “Trost’s stupid secrets” he didn’t know about, even though he’d grown up there for the majority of his life.

The building looks like any other pawn shop in any other town Marco had driven past in his lifetime.  Its outside is dull and boxy with tinted windows behind security bars.  Honestly the whole building vaguely resembles a prison and only the business card in his hand somewhat reassures Marco that he’s in the right place.

_ I’m starting to wonder if I’m too trusting,  _ Marco sighed to himself, feeling really hesitant about entering the building.  

Jean, on the other hand, has lost his earlier trepidation and is marching to the front door with angry, determined steps.  “Let’s go, Marco.  I want some answers.”  He doesn’t wait for Marco to catch up as he throws the door open and strides right inside.

“Hey, wait,” Marco exclaims, jogging after him through the entrance only to collide with Jean’s back just inside the doorway.  Marco stumbles backwards a step, only just barely leaving room for the heavy door to swing shut behind him.

Jean’s body language is frozen in a defensive stance and Marco feel anxiousness claw at his stomach.  He is grateful for his excess height that allows him to peek past the young man’s shoulder to see someone that is definitely not Levi behind the counter.

Marco opens his mouth to ask Jean if this is possibly the wrong place when the other man beats him to it, barking out an angry shout of “Jaeger!  What are you doing here!?”

The young man behind the counter looks up from his magazine to curl up his lips in a snarl at the sight of Jean.  “I fucking work here, Kirstein!  What’s it matter to you?  I thought you left Trost years ago!”

“I can go wherever I want, shitstain!  Don’t you act like you own the place!”  Jean’s stomping toward the counter in large steps, making the brunette on the other side of the room jump to his feet defensively.

Marco feels panic building in his chest.  The atmosphere is nearly explosive and he can feel the tension making his hair stand on end.  If he didn’t know any better, then he would have sworn that the items in the glass case on the front counter were rattling as though there was a small earthquake.  But that doesn’t make any sense, so Marco attributes it to his stress.  He didn’t want a fight to break out from coming here, he just wanted…

“Levi!”  Marco exclaims as he takes a step forward between them, breaking the tension.  The two men turn to notice him, in the sales clerk's case, for the first time.  Marco takes in a gasp of air before clarifying, “Um, we were just looking for Levi.”

Jean’s eyebrows raise as though he had nearly forgotten their goal while the other man’s face scrunches slightly.

“Levi hasn’t come in yet.  Why do you need him?  I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

“Oh, um I’m Marco, I’m new to Trost.  Levi told me to call, but we decided to drop by instead.  Um, should we not have done that?”  Marco threads his fingers together in front of his chest.  This day is turning into more of a mess than he was expecting.

“Oh, you’re fine,” the man gives Marco a crooked smile and Marco feels slightly better, “Just you’re supposed to leave your ride outside, that’s all.”  The clerk glares at Jean again and Marco can feel him growl in response behind him.

“If you make one more horse joke, Jaeger, I will climb over this counter and deck you, you asshole!”

Marco turns back to look at Jean in concern, trying to find the words to suggest that  _ maybe  _ it wouldn’t be a bad idea for them to wait outside for Levi, when the clerk decides to retort, “How do you know it wasn’t a sex joke?  Thought you had a thing for the tall, dark, and handsome.”

This effectively shuts Jean up and derails Marco’s attempted damage control.  Their eyes awkwardly meet and hot blushes bloom on their faces as they hastily turn away from each other.  Now that he thinks about it, the pizza guy had said something similar, though less crude.  

“Eren, what did you do?  I haven’t felt this much aggression and embarrassment in a room since the last time Jean was in town.”  A beautiful young woman with silky black hair and dark eyes enters the room from the back of the shop, a mildly disapproving frown on her lips.  Her eyes widen a fraction as she notices the brightly flushed men on the customer side of the counter. 

“Jean, I didn’t know you were back,” she states, giving him a once over.

“H-hey, Mikasa,” Jean mumbles as he turns even redder in the cheeks than he had been a few minutes before.

“Oh,  _ please,  _ not this again,” the counter guy groans, rolling his eyes.

Marco’s  _ really  _ starting to wish he had just called Levi in the first place.  There’s too much history in the room and Marco feels more like an outsider than he has since he’s entered Trost.

Suddenly Mikasa weaves her way past the counter to Marco, placing a hand on his shoulder that amazingly puts him immediately at ease.  “Sorry about these idiots.  Seems like they haven’t grown up at all.”  She emphasizes her words with a pointed look over her shoulder at the two in question.  “I’m Mikasa and this is my brother Eren.  How can we help you?”

“Oh, um, I’m Marco.  And we were just looking for Levi.”

Her eyebrows raise minutely and she promptly whips her smartphone from her pocket to send a text.  After a few seconds, the phone beeps in her hand and she looks at it before putting it away.  “He’s on his way and should be here in a few minutes.  Would you like to sit down and have some tea while you wait?”

“Wait, they’re allowed in the back room?!” Eren remarks, giving Jean a sidelong look.

“Yep, and you’re staying up front to man the counter.  Boss’s orders.”

Eren grumbles but doesn’t outright object and Marco allows Mikasa to lead him to a backroom with a small table and a counter with a small teapot.  Mikasa gestures at him to sit down and starts boiling the water before pulling six mismatched cups from a cabinet.

She turns and frowns at Jean, who’s still hovering awkwardly in the doorway.  “You can come in and sit, but if you start causing trouble you can wait outside.”  Still nervous and embarrassed, Jean nearly stumbles in his haste to pull out the chair next to Marco and avoid further trouble.

“I’ll let you know when he’s here.  Help yourselves to the tea when it's ready.”  With that, she leaves the two of them alone in the tiny breakroom.

“Sorry about that,” Jean mumbles, scuffing the toes of his shoes on the tile floor.  “Eren and I have been at each other’s throats since sixth grade.  It’s sorta a reflex.”  He hesitates again before adding, “He’s always been a crude shit and I, um, don’t want you to feel uncomfortable about his last comment, okay.”

“Oh, um okay.”

“So... yeah.”

It’s still awkward and Marco’s grateful when the teapot whistles and he can occupy himself with serving the tea.  He hears the door open behind him and Marco figures Mikasa must be back.  “Would you like some tea?” he asks, already done filling two cups for Jean and himself.

“Sure,” answers a gruff voice that certainly does not belong to Mikasa.  Marco turns quickly to see Eren close the door behind himself.  Jean, to Marco’s extreme surprise, is watching the newcomer warily but makes no move to open his mouth or stand from his seat.

Eren and Jean share a glance and the blonde sighs before pulling himself to his feet.  “I’ll be back soon, Marco.  You can give Eren my tea.  Let me know if he’s an ass so I can kick his.”  He leaves and Marco is left shocked from witnessing such a calm encounter between the two of them, especially after their earlier confrontation.

Eren makes himself comfortable in the seat Jean has just vacated, gesturing for Marco to sit as well.  “Look,” he sighs, “It has been brought to my attention that I was really rude to you.  To be honest… I was focusing on that shithead, so I didn’t really recognize that that comment was sorta directed at you too…  So, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, um,” it's only at this moment that Marco realizes that he’s received more apologies in one day than he had gotten in the last week, “thanks for the apology.”  His cheeks can’t help but burn again, when he thinks about it though.

“So…” Eren glances at the windowed door to make sure the hallway is still empty.  “You’re really not dating him, huh?”

“What!  No!  I met him like two days ago!”  Marco is sure his bright face could be seen from space now.

For the first time, even Eren looks somewhat sheepish.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  It’s just that last that we heard, Jean had moved out of town with some mysterious bae of his.  So when he turned back up with a stranger, I sorta assumed.  He doesn’t normally get along with strangers, er well, most people actually.”

“Oh.”

Eren starts studying him with contemplation before he adds, “I wasn’t kidding when I said you’re his type though.”

“Eren, stop making our guest feel uncomfortable.”  Mikasa opens the door and huffs at him before making a beeline for the teapot.

“Just giving him a friendly warning.  You should know better than anybody what a hassle Jean’s crushes can be.”

She simply sighs as she fills the remaining four cup with warm tea.  “Eren if you pester Marco again, I’ll tell Levi to make you sit out of this meeting.  _  And _ that you had a massive crush on him when you were fifteen.”

Eren throws his hands on the table and stands quickly, practically knocking over his chair.  “Don’t you dare!!  Those were dark days!  Don’t bring up the past like that!” he exclaims, his tan skin starting to turn a vibrant pink.

Mikasa shoots him a look as if saying,  _ exactly,  _ before the rest of her words sink in.  “Meeting?  Its that important?” Eren asks dubiously.

She hums and pulls out a serving tray to put the steaming cups on.  “Levi’s in his office,” she turns to Marco as she picks up the metal tray, “I’ll show you.”

Marco nods and follows her down the hall opposite the path she had taken him the first time.  To his surprise Eren follows quietly after them and Marco’s grip on his teacup tightens as he realizes that means Levi’s probably closed the shop for this, whatever  _ this _ is.

Mikasa stops at a closed door with a blank metal placard on it.  There’s a low murmur of voices that can be heard through the door.  Eren squeezes past Marco to knock since his sister’s hands are full.

Marco can just barely hear Levi’s low voice say, “Well, no wonder you were always such an ornery little shit” before the short man unlocks the door.

The office isn’t any larger than the tiny break room, but Levi has managed to squeeze four chairs into it around his heavy mahogany desk.  Though the abundance of furniture makes the office seem cluttered, the room itself is immaculately clean without a speck of dust to be seen.  Jean looks surprisingly small in the cramped room, tucked away in a chair in the far corner. 

“You brats are going to make me need a bigger office,” Levi says as a welcome as he pulls himself up to sit on his desk.  Mikasa sets the tray on the surface next to him and helps herself to a cup before taking a seat in the middle of the room.  Marco takes the chair between her and Jean, leaving Eren the one closest to the door.

“What’s going on, Levi?”  Eren’s words address his boss, but his eyes are busy scrutinizing Jean on the other side of the room.

“We’re here because Marco has something that concerns all of us.”  Levi takes a sip of his tea before adding, “We just need to figure out what it is and who it belongs to.”

“So we know nothing,” Eren gripes just as Marco asks, “Did my mother tell you anything else?”

“I don’t think I can get any more information from her on my own,” Levi sighs.  “I was late coming in today because I had to ask a favor of an old contact.  Guess it’s a good thing, because he’ll be able to help Jean more than I will.”

“Wait, how is Jean involved?”  Eren asks, confusion making his… chair rattle?

“If you scuff my floor Jaeger, I will make you clean the whole shop by yourself.”  With a single glare Levi makes the motion stop before sighing and looking at the rest of the young adults around him.  “There are no secrets in this room, got it?”  He makes eye contact with each of them and they nod in turn.

“Marco and Jean are both… clairvoyant in a way.  Marco gets dream visions.  Jean gets visions induced through direct contact with objects.

“Mikasa is an empath and Eren has telekinesis.  Eren’s powers are emotionally strengthened, so he’s somewhat unstable and unreliable without his sister to keep him in line.”

“Levi!” Eren exclaims.

Mikasa and Marco are far more preoccupied with Jean, whose jaw has fallen at the revelation that he wasn’t as alienated as he always thought.  

“You haven’t learned your off button, have you,” Mikasa murmurs quietly, looking at Jean with a soft glimmer of sympathy.  There’s no question in her voice but Jean shuts his mouth and gives her a sheepish nod anyway. 

“No wonder you were on edge all the time,” she adds as though thinking out loud.  Once again, Marco feels stuck as an outsider.  These people have history, even if it wasn’t all positive, and he feels like he’s literally sitting in the middle of a moment he shouldn’t even know about.

“Anyway, the goal for now is for you two to help Jean control his powers.  His capabilities will probably be able to help Marco the most out of us, but he’s useless until he gets some control.”

Marco can feel Jean and Eren groan at the prospect of working together, but it's much more subdued than their earlier animosity.  It seems that just knowing they’re not as different as they always thought has made them at the very least curious about each other’s capabilities. 

Levi tells them to go back to the front shop to gauge Jean’s abilities but gives Marco a gesture to stay back for a moment.  Only once the others leave and can no longer be heard in the hallway outside, does Levi address him.

“You did good, Marco.”

“What?”

“You managed to track down the person in Trost who probably has the most capability to help you.” The soft sense of awe in Levi’s tone is rather unsettling to hear.

“Well, it was mostly an accident,” Marco laughs awkwardly, not liking the intensity with which the older man is appraising him.

“I have lived in Trost for the entirety of Jean’s life here and I never had an inkling of his abilities.  Neither did Jaeger’s kids and considering their father’s extensive research on extrasensory perception, that’s saying something.”  He gives Marco a meaningful stare as he iterates, “You found Jean on your first day in Trost.”

Marco feels his eyes widen in disbelief at the insinuation.  “It was really just luck,” he mumbles, turning to look away from Levi’s intense stare.

Even facing away from him, Marco can still feel Levi’s eyes on his skin.  After a few moments, Levi sighs and slides off the desk and onto his feet.  “I just have one more thing to say, Marco.”

Marco turns back to look at him and is surprised by the open earnestness he sees on the other man’s face.  “I’m going to do my damned best to help you because I have a feeling this is important.  But I want you to follow your gut as much as possible, even if it disagrees with me at some point.”

Though Marco sincerely does not understand where this trust in his luck, er  _ intuition,  _ is coming from, he can’t help but nod in response.  Levi’s confidence in him is too strong to question and Marco doesn’t want to sit here and even think of arguing with him.  Satisfied, Levi sends Marco out to join the others while he washes out the cups and makes yet another phone call.

When Marco gets to the front room, he finds Jean cross-legged on the floor with Eren setting a row of small items in front of him.

“Its easier to start by filtering out specific information than just plain trying to block it out.  Make your power work for you, not just jerk you around,” Mikasa intones from her perch in a rolling chair behind the glass shop counter.  “Pick out which pocket watch was brought in by an old man.”

“Can you be a little more specific?” Jean complains as he eyes each of the five pocket watches arranged in front of him.  “All of these have probably belonged to old men at one point.”

“Maybe, but only one of them was sold to us by an old man,” Eren shrugs and leans back against the counter lazily.

“It’s going to be hard, Jean, but it's something you need to learn how to do,” Mikasa supplies.

The three of them have yet to notice Marco’s entrance and he doesn’t want to distract them from their experimental lesson, so he decides to watch them in silence for a few moments.  

In front of him Jean slowly, cautiously reaches out to touch each watch.  Its very different watching Jean interact with these items in comparison to Marco’s key.  Though Jean is visibly apprehensive, he’s nowhere near as shaken as he had been the night before.  He keeps his eyes tightly shut as he runs his fingers over the surface of each metallic item.  His breaths are shallow and he takes in a small gasp each time he breaks contact with a watch, like a swimmer resurfacing for air.

He spends a few minutes over each pocketwatch before he sighs and lets his eyes flutter open.  “Okay,” Jean takes a settling breath before he points to the second in the line, a watch with a heavy chain and a large dent in the back.  “I think it's this one.”

“Nope,” Eren responds bluntly, “Oluo brought that one in a few months ago for some extra rent money.  I think he said it belonged to his grandfather though, so it  _ did  _ belong to an old man at least.  If that makes you feel any better.”

“Ughh,” Jean flips backwards in defeat, letting out a groan as his back makes contact with the tile floor.  “There’s just too much.  It’s probably not even possible to control which details I see,” he whines.  From his new vantage point on the ground, Jean can finally see Marco hovering quietly by the back door.  The blond’s cheeks redden as he sighs, “Look Marco, I’m still useless.”

“No, don’t say that!” Marco splutters, “It’s just something that will take some getting used to.”

Eren visibly startles at Marco’s voice while Mikasa simply nods in greeting.

Jean sighs again and Marco cautiously approaches to sit next to him, getting a better look at the assortment Eren had arranged on the floor.  Jean closes his eyes and tucks his arms underneath his head.  Ordinarily, Marco would feel disgusted with the idea of sitting on the floor of a public place, let alone sprawling out on it like Jean is.  Yet, like Levi’s office, the floor is meticulously clean.

“Hmm,” Marco muses as he studies the pocket watches.  He’s vaguely reminded of the day his mother gave him his tarot deck to help induce meditation.   _ What had she said then? _

“What if you thought about the pawn shop first?  Focused on that before you even touch the watches?” Marco voices his thoughts, too busy thinking about what helps him focus to register Jean’s posture shifting beside him.  “What if you focus on what you want to sort the visions with before you let the visions start?”

When Marco does look over, he is surprised to see that Jean has pulled himself back up into an upright position to simply stare at him with furrowed brows.  And he’s not the only one staring either.  “What?” Marco squeaks as he notices that  _ everyone  _ in the room is actually staring at him.  Each have a different degree of contemplation in their eyes, with Mikasa’s the hardest to read and Eren’s the easiest.  Jean is right in the middle with his confused but still intently engaged staring.  “It’s how I meditate,” Marco mutters, “It doesn’t always work, but…”

“Worth a shot,” Jean shrugs and the room grows more silent as he closes his eyes to focus.  Not much seems to be different than his first attempt, except that he takes a longer pause before he touches each item, obviously taking Marco’s suggestion earnestly and attempting to focus on filtering his thoughts.

This time, when Jean opens his eyes there’s the ghost of a confident smile on his face.  “This one,” he says as he points to the pocket watch furthest from him.  It’s golden and rather plain; its front is simple, if somewhat scratched, glass, over embossed golden numbers and long equally shiny hands that are quietly clicking as the time passes.

Eren walks closer to get a better look at the chosen item.  He’s silent for a moment as he looks at it before he finally gives Jean a lopsided smile.  “Yep.”

Jean laughs happily before turning to blind Marco with a proud smile.  “I did it,” he exclaims, reminding Marco of a little kid that managed to write his name for the first time.  His excitement is so endearing, in fact, that Marco feels a warm sensation in his chest and can only bear to look at him for a few minutes before turning away to look at the others.

“Congrats,” Mikasa hums, shooting Jean a soft smile of her own.  Maybe it's because the smile isn’t directed at him, but Marco feels like it's safer to focus on her than Jean’s butterfly inducing expression.  

“I don’t know about you guys, but I feel accomplished!” Eren boasts, effectively breaking whatever that warm gentle mood was.  “Maybe Levi will treat us to dinner for such a good start!”

“You didn’t do anything!” Jean blurts in surprise, turning from Marco to glare at Eren.  “Mikasa and Marco did more to help!  You just stood there.”

“I picked out the watches, you dumb shit!  Fine, I won’t help you anymore,” Eren crosses his arms across his chest in a huff, turning to look away with his face pinched in a dramatic pouting frown.

Jean doesn’t say anything else, simply puffing up his cheeks like a hoarding chipmunk.  The tension is lighter than their first fight was, and the pure childishness of the situation makes Marco chuckle.  

It’s nice, spending time with people like this.

Marco hadn’t had many friends in his childhood.  Sure he was a nice, rather friendly child, but he never was especially close to anyone.  It was simply an effect of moving a couple times a year.  Once they left, he’d never see those children again and that was it.  He had grown pretty used to it over the years, so thoughts of loneliness were pretty fleeting.  But now, surrounded by people that  _ related  _ to him, people that felt comfortable including him, Marco realizes that he  _ was  _ lonely.  

And maybe it's a bad time, maybe he should be focusing on interpreting those strange dream visions, but right now, Marco is struck by the realization that he  _ really  _ wants to be friends with these people.  That these are the friends that maybe he’s always wanted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've probably noticed that tarot cards are an important theme in this story. [This tarot writing outline](http://my-write-reference.tumblr.com/post/146814117834/danceinthemagic-storytelling-through-tarot-ive) greatly helped me brainstorm for this fic. 
> 
> The main cards for this chapter are the [nine of swords,](http://www.psychic-revelation.com/reference/q_t/tarot/tarot_cards/swords_9.html) [the King of swords,](http://www.psychic-revelation.com/reference/q_t/tarot/tarot_cards/swords_king.html) [the Chariot,](http://www.psychic-revelation.com/reference/q_t/tarot/tarot_cards/chariot.html) and [the Queen of Pentacles.](http://www.psychic-revelation.com/reference/q_t/tarot/tarot_cards/pentacles_queen.html)
> 
> Please let me know what you think. :) I also have a [tumblr.](http://dat-heichou.tumblr.com)


	2. IV of Wands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, please check out the wonderful art made for this fic!
> 
>  
> 
> [Kirahara's chapter 1 art](http://kiraharas.tumblr.com/post/150047069696/the-first-of-my-two-pieces-for-the-snkminibang)
> 
>  
> 
> [Emelianss' chapter 2 art](http://emelianss.tumblr.com/post/150046561116/aaaaand-the-third-and-last-snkminibang-drawing-is)
> 
>  
> 
> [Leonharlert's chapter 2 art](http://leonharlert.tumblr.com/post/150510676302/are-they-really-sure-about-this-marco-wonders)
> 
> Give the amazing artists some love. <3
> 
> Also thank you to the people who organized the minibang! I've had a truly wonderful time and this story wouldn't have occurred to me without this opportunity.

Three days later on Friday morning, Marco wakes up to a knock at the door.  Well, several knocks.  It’s expected, but not entirely welcome and right now Marco wants nothing more than to go back to sleep.  

But he knows that if he does, then they’ll be late and Levi will put them on cleaning duty while everyone else closes up shop.  And among the many things he’s learned over the past few days is the knowledge that being on Levi’s cleanup crew is exhausting.  Thinking about it is enough to convince him to finally blink the sleep away from his eyes.

Marco groans and throws his arm toward the bedside table, blindly fumbling for the pen and composition book left there.  After his first visit to the pawn shop, Levi had handed him a marbled composition notebook--the kind used by elementary schoolers--and told him to take notes on his visions first thing when he woke up that the two of them could analyze later.

But as he writes down observations and thoughts about the most recent visions, Marco is frustrated to see that there’s nothing really _new_ there.  He hasn’t heard the voices again, but the key and the underlying shifts of emotions around him are both prominent.  He doesn’t know what to make of it.  Why was there such an undercurrent of urgency if there isn't anything really decipherable?

Another loud knock sounds against the door and Marco sighs before setting down the notebook and untangling his legs from his sheets to go answer it.  On the way he passes the small, cheap alarm clock that is on top of his dresser and groans as he realizes that Jean is in fact about an hour and a half earlier than expected.

“Finally,” Jean complains, distracting Marco from his own protests as he walks in with several small tupperware containers with a couple sets of silverware balanced precariously on top of them.  “I brought breakfast.”

Marco gives a small smile as thanks as he receives the warm container.  Maybe the earlier wake-up-call is acceptable if it comes with free food.  

They settle at the tiny folding table to eat.  The warm omelet is savory and makes Marco’s tastebuds hum.

“This is good!” he exclaims, preparing to compliment Jean’s mother.  Mrs. Kirstein works for a catering business and, according to Jean, is the best in Trost.  In Marco’s past experiences eating with Jean, the blond mentions his mother’s cooking at least once per meal as a means of comparison.  (“Jean’s still a mama’s boy,” Eren teases, prompting a food fight between the two hotheads more often than not--much to Levi’s ire.)  But as Marco notices the growing pink tint at the tips of Jean’s ears and the upward quirk of his lips at the compliment, he can’t help but wonder…

“Wait, did you make this?”

Jean’s face glows a bright blotchy red as he splutters in response, “M-maybe.”

“Wow, Jean!  I didn’t know you could cook,” Marco smiles, feeling surprisingly happy at seeing the other man’s flustered expression.

“I told you I help Mom with the catering company!  What did you think I do?” Jean exclaims.

“Bus tables,” Marco answers honestly, laughing at the incredulous look Jean gives him in response, which is rendered less effective by his bright red blush.

“I can’t believe you’re disrespecting me like this,” Jean whines, holding his hand over his heart in mock offense.  “Some friend you are.”

Marco laughs again, a strange giddiness fizzing in his chest at the casual affirmation of their friendship.  

“Sorry for underestimating you.  I’ll try not to do that,” Marco smiles gently.

“You better,” Jean harrumphs, letting their conversation come to an end as they both return to their omelets..

“So...” Marco hums once he’s eaten his full, “It’s nice being treated to your cooking, but what’s the occasion?  Or did you just decide to cook this morning and show off your skills?”

“It’s in celebration, duh,” Jean rolls his eyes even as his ears grow a warm pink again at the indirect compliment.  “Besides, I already had to wake up early to help you pack up your shit, anyway.  Figured I’d make it more worthwhile.”

“Celebration?  Packing?  What do you mean?” Marco tilts his head in bewilderment.  He wracks his brain, searching for any earlier mention of his… being moved?  Wait what’s going on?

“I’m guessing Shitlord didn’t tell you,” Jean sighs before grumbling, “geeze send me to do everything, why don’t you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Mrs. Jaeger is pissed at her children for letting their friend continue to waste his money on a dinky little motel when they have an empty guest bedroom.”

“Oh, they don’t have to!” Marco exclaims in embarrassment.  While Marco certainly doesn’t have money to burn and he is currently keeping his eyes peeled for nearby short-term employment options, the idea of such hospitality seems far too generous.

His eyes linger on the empty plastic container in front of him before another thought occurs to him.  “Are you… worried about my wallet too?”

Jean’s cheeks redden further and he busies himself with gathering up their breakfast supplies.  “Just figured I’d do my part.  I mean, I can’t compete with Mrs. Jaeger, but…”

“Thank you, Jean,” Marco smiles.  The idea that people thought about him and went out of their way to do things for him (like waking up early to cook for him and help him pack, apparently) gave him a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest.

Jean looks away at the room around them to hide his continuing blush.  “Yeah, yeah, let's get your shit packed up and turn in your key,” he grumbles in a quiet voice.

It didn’t take long to empty out Marco’s motel room.  He’d never really unpacked after all.  His only personal belongings in the room included a suitcase with a growing pile of dirty laundry and a few small items like a comb, toothbrush, toiletries, and other parts of his daily routine.

Within a half hour, they managed to restore the room to its default, eerily impersonal state, return the key to the front desk, and tuck Marco’s belongings into the back of his truck.

“Are they really sure about this?”  Marco wonders as he climbs into the driver’s seat.  “Maybe I’m better off just--”

“You’re going to have to fight Carla Jaeger if you’re trying to get out of her hospitality and that’s a fight you’ll lose,” Jean blandly retorts as he buckles his seatbelt and stretches his legs out underneath the dashboard.

Marco bites his lip nervously, feeling very uneasy about the prospect of meeting Mrs. Jaeger.  “What if she regrets letting me stay?  What if she dislikes me?  What if I get a bad vision in the middle of the night and freak out and wake her up and make her angry? What if..”  As he voices his worries Jean sighs, unbuckles his seatbelt, and climbs out of the truck to open the driver’s side door.

“That’s it, scoot over.  I’m driving today.”

“What?”  Marco squeaks but unbuckles and slides down the bench seat anyway.  He’s so distracted by his thoughts that he smacks his knee against the gearshift and yelps in pain.

Jean sighs again before climbing into the driver’s seat.  “Calm down, okay?  You’re too nervous to drive, so let me handle this.”  He tugs on the sleeves of his sweatshirt so they cover the palms of his hands before he settles them over the steering wheel.  His fingers still brush against the leather though,causing him to freeze, tenseness making his fingers twitch around the wheel.  Marco knows more than anybody that there’s a lot of memories lingering in this truck, so he can’t help the guilt that gnaws at his stomach when he sees Jean’s newfound tension.

As if sensing his thoughts, Jean turns to him and sticks his tongue out before retorting,  “Look, I’m fine and you’re _gonna_ be fine, okay?  Geeze, if Mama Jaeger is nice to me, the asshole that sent her son home with multiple black eyes in high school, she’ll _love_ you.  Relax.”

Marco ducks his head in embarrassment.  He knows he’s probably overreacting, but he can’t help it.   _This is all so new._

Marco’s disrupted from his thoughts as Jean guns the engine and turns on the radio to some upbeat pop station.  He looks up to see a wide smirk currently stretched across Jean’s narrow face.  “If you don’t stop worrying, I’ll start singing and I can’t promise it’ll be pleasant.”

Marco opens his mouth to reply when Jean raises the radio’s volume, jumping right into the chorus without further hesitation, “ _Hey, I just met you and this is crazy. But_ _here's my number, so call me maybe.”_ His pitch is off and he can’t seem to remember the tune, but he still knows _every single word_.  Marco stifles a giggle at the display and Jean openly relaxes, feeling more comfortable to further play around.  His smirk has relaxed into a more genuine smile as he further exaggerates his voice, drifting to a high falsetto that is even more off key.

After a minute of the song, Marco’s cheeks hurt from laughing and tears are forming in his eyes.  The difference between Jean now and Marco’s first impression of him are so drastically different that it causes more bubbly laughter escape from his lips.  He had no idea that the stranger from the pizza place, who was so emotionally distant and subdued, would become so open and candid with him only a few days later.  

“Don’t just laugh at me, sing with me!” Jean exclaims, turning to briefly flash Marco a wide grin before turning his eyes back to the road.

“I don’t know the words,” Marco replies when he finally catches his breath again, only to make Jean snort in response.

“Are you kidding?  This was on constant repeat everywhere for like a whole summer.  You have to.”  And then, without waiting for further rebuttal, Jean starts singing again, practically yelling the words, “ _And all the other boys try to chasee meeeee. But here's my number, so call me maybe_.”  He shoots Marco an exaggerated wink and finally Marco gives in.  He certainly doesn’t know the lyrics as well as Jean does (especially considering it's been years since the song was regularly played on the radio), but he at least has a vague recollection of the end.

So together they sing-shout the words, “ _Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad.  I missed you so bad.  I missed you so so bad.”_ These lines send the two young men into giggles and derail their singing attempt.

“Man you suck,” Jean remarks as he catches his breath again and Marco pouts back at him.

“So do you,” he retorts glibly.  But the mood is lifted, so the song has served its purpose.

As Jean continues driving, Marco finds himself relaxing.  The song is cute and pretty silly, but in a strange way it's words make sense to Marco now.  Though it’s totally irrational to miss someone before you’ve ever met them, a small part of him understands the sentiment.  He didn’t know what he was missing before, but now that he has a friend that makes him laugh like this he can’t remember what it felt like to laugh on his own.

When they pull up to the pawn shop, Marco’s not surprised that they’re the second car in the lot.  What _is_ surprising is that the other vehicle isn’t Eren’s old beat up army-green passat.  Instead it's a classic black Volvo, meticulously shined, in the first parking spot.  The car screams a vintage fifties aesthetic, complete with a simultaneously rounded but boxy silhouette.  

For the first time since Marco’s been frequenting the pawn shop. Levi is lounging behind the front counter when they enter.  Before the door fully shuts behind them, the man straightens his posture and calls, “Jean, do you have any outside obligations today?”

“Nope, I’m free today.”  

“Good.  Then you’re in charge of the front desk.”  Levi doesn’t wait for an affirmative response before he gets up and begins collecting his keys and phone to put into his pockets.

“What?” Jean whines, drawing out the the word for a few dramatic seconds.  “Why should I do Jaeger’s job?  Where is he, anyway?”

“Eren’s out sick today and Mikasa’s looking after him.  I have a meeting, so Marco and I have to leave the shop for a few hours.  So you’re all that’s left.”

“I’m a last resort?” Jean remarks, raising his eyebrows.  “And, wait you’re going to leave me here alone?  I can’t go with you guys?”

“The fact that you’re _a_ resort means I trust you with my shop.  Besides, I’ll give you Eren’s usual wages for the day, so it's not like you won’t be compensated.”

With those words, Jean promptly stops complaining and seems to accept his newfound duty.  His lips quirk upward like a smug pampered cat, which leads Marco to believe that Jean’s satisfaction has as much to do with the word “trust” as it does with the promise of payment.  Whether it's in relation to Jean and Eren’s unending sense of competition or receiving Levi’s trust is more difficult to tell.

In his past few days in the company of Eren, Mikasa, and Jean, Marco has noticed that his first impression of Levi--as a mysterious, yet confidence inducing enigma--is echoed in their interactions with the man as well.  Even after knowing the man for years, he still seems to command their respect and admiration without doing anything, really.   _I don’t think he has what people would refer to as a magnetic personality,_ Marco muses as he watches Levi give Jean instructions on how to run the shop in his absence, including a script for basic transactions and a list of inventory prices.   _He’s a bit too gruff for that, but it's sort of the best way to describe it, too._

Jean settles into the rolling chair as Levi ducks behind the counter again.  “You might want these,” he advises, passing Jean a new package of black stretchy gloves, “So you don’t have to touch something you don’t want to.”

_Oh,_ Marco realizes as Jean shoots Levi a grateful smile.  He suddenly remembers what Petra had said, surprised that he had forgotten it in the first place.   _“Don’t mind Levi, he’s always like that.  If he acts too nice then he feels the need to scurry off and be alone for a while.”_ As much as Levi tries to act aloof and unemotional, Levi _cares._ That’s why everyone respects him so much.

“Marco stop daydreaming, we’ve got places to be,” Levi remarks, breaking Marco away from his contemplation.  Marco blushes when he realizes that both Levi and Jean are watching him while he zones out.

“Oh, okay,” he splutters.

“Give me a call if something unexpected comes up,” Levi calls over his shoulder as he herds Marco toward the front door.  “We’ll drag you with us next time.”

“Alright.  I’ll do such a good job that you might as well just give me Eren’s job.”  Marco is too busy being shuffled toward the exit to look back at Jean, but he still knows that his friend’s face is stretched into his trademark smirk.  Honestly, the predictability of Jean’s competitiveness brings a smile to Marco’s face and he can’t help but stop for a moment to offer a wave goodbye over his shoulder, much to Levi’s frustration.

“Boy Wonder will still be here when we get back, so let's get going,” he grumbles, hurrying Marco through the door.

In the parking lot, Marco is surprised that for once, Levi leads him away from his faithful black truck.  Instead, he heads toward the shiny volvo that had caught Marco’s eye earlier.  When Marco looks at the man questioningly, Levi remarks, “Dragging all of your shit over to Trost U would just be a hassle.  Don’t think you can get away with tracking dirt into my car though.  I _will_ make you walk.”

Marco hastily checks his shoes and promises that he won’t.  “So we’re going to the University?” he asks as Levi unlocks the door and lets him into the passenger seat.  So far he hasn’t been to that side of town.  All he knows from Petra’s hand drawn map is that the University is practically centered in the historic area of Trost.  “Are we meeting with that contact you’ve been calling?”

Levi shuts the door behind Marco with a surprisingly loud _smack_ as he grumbles, “No.”  He circles the car to primly seat himself behind the steering column before he eventually adds, “That asswipe hasn’t gotten back to me yet.”

“Oh,” Marco mumbles.

The question was innocent enough, but it obviously made Levi’s mood darken considerably.  His jaw is clenched rigid and his neat eyebrows have furrowed, wrinkling the skin between his eyes.  “The man’s too busy for Trost, it seems.”

Marco hums nervously as he watches the more familiar of Trost’s streets disappear past the car’s windows.  They sit in silence for a while, until Marco finally works up the courage to ask, “So who are we meeting?”

Now, a wry smile stretches Levi’s lips as he quickly glances over at Marco.  “You’ll see,” he remarks, his low gravelly voice far warmer than it had been the last time he’d spoken.  Levi’s amusement puts Marco more at ease, but at the same time is a clear signal that the younger man isn't going to get any more information out of him.

* * *

And Marco doesn’t receive any more information when they arrive at the college, either.  Levi simply leads him silently through the university’s history wing and into one of its offices.

The office itself is cluttered with books and filled to the brim with rather precarious looking shelves.  Every flat surface seems covered in what can only be considered a type of organized chaos.  In fact, the room is so full and contains so many things to look at that, that Marco doesn’t realize there’s someone in the room until they practically throw themself at Levi.  The action is so sudden that Marco can’t stifle a shout as he ducks behind the shorter man.

“Levi!” the mystery person exclaims, engulfing the short man in a tight hug.  “You haven’t visited in such a long time!”  Now that they’re standing still, Marco can take in more of their appearance, like long brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail and their equally disheveled collared shirt and stained khaki slacks.

“I told you I was coming,” Levi retorts blandly, disentangling himself from the embrace and grimacing at the smears of dirt and dust left behind on his previously spotless white button-down.

“Still exciting,” they laugh before turning to Marco, their large brown eyes peering through him from behind thick framed glasses.

Marco raises his hand for a handshake and opens his mouth to introduce himself, when suddenly their hands reach forward to grasp upon his face.  The stranger tilts Marco’s head this way and that with their fingers and lean closer to examine more intricate details; his eyes, his freckles, his profile, his hairline.  They pull on his lip as though preparing to look into his mouth, which Marco promptly snaps shut, clenching his jaw to deny them access.

He’s so distracted by the sensation of being intimately manhandled that it takes several minutes for him to recognize that there are multiple conversations happening at once around him.

“Is this the clairvoyant, Levi?  Do you think we could get a blood sample?  Run some genealogy tests?”

“Doctor!  You can’t just touch people without their permission!!”

“Dr. Hanji, I’ve found the files you asked for.  Wait, who’s that?”

“Hanji, you’ve scared him enough, let him go.”  Levi’s familiar voice is a blessing in that strange, overwhelming office, especially since the professor listens to him and releases Marco.

Marco staggers back into the thick wooden door and sighs in relief.  Now that he has personal space again, he can see the two new figures in the room who seem to have emerged from an adjacent records closet.  The taller one is a nervous looking man with tawny brown hair, muttering something about how they’re going to be faced with a harassment lawsuit one day.  The other is younger looking, with long blond hair pulled back in a french braid and a soft yellow button-down.  He’s looking at Marco curiously with clear blue eyes partially hidden by his blond fringe.

“Levi, um what?”  Marco’s thoughts are too frazzled to form a coherent question, but luckily Levi seems to know what to say.

“Marco, this is Hanji, the acquaintance that studies psychic powers and stuff.”

“How rude Levi,” they whine, shoving their hands in their pockets to rifle around for a few seconds before the anxious man hands them a notebook and a pen.  “It’s not _stuff._ Besides, we’re friends and you know it.”  They start hastily scribbling what Marco has a feeling are observations about _him_ into the notepad before turning back to look at him directly.

“Dr. Hanji Zoe at your service!  I use neutral pronouns because gender is a social construct that I don’t have time to deal with.”  Now that they’re at least an arm’s length away from him, Marco can finally muster a wary smile and greeting himself.

“And these are Moblit and Armin, my lab assistants.”  The young men wave before Hanji continues, “Let’s go find a comfortable place to talk.”

They lead the group through a combination of doors until they reach what appears to be a small conference room centered around a circular table.

Levi makes himself comfortable in a plush office chair and Marco quickly claims the seat next to him.  He can’t help but sigh with relief when the eccentric professor sits on Levi’s other side at the opposite end of the table.  It’s not that Marco doesn’t trust them per se, after all Levi certainly finds them trustworthy and he seems like a person who doesn’t trust without reason.  Still, it's hard to feel comfortable with someone who just invaded his personal space and tried to put their dirty hands in his mouth.  Marco can’t suppress a slight shiver at the memory.

One of the assistants locks the door while the other takes the seat besides Marco.  “Sorry about that,” he smiles softly as he brushes a strand of errant blond hair behind his ear.  “They get very… hands-on sometimes.”

Levi chuckles at that and Marco groans in frustration.  A warning would have been nice.

“So you’re Marco?  Eren and Mikasa have told me a lot about you,” the blond--Armin, Marco remembers--smiles again and now Marco vaguely remembers the other two mention that they have a best friend he hadn’t met yet.

“Levi told us about your situation, Marco,” Hanji supplies, “though I still think a blood test would be beneficial--”

“That’s just for your own curiosity,” Levi interrupts, digging around in his pocket before setting a small bundle on the circular table.  “So what can you tell us about this?”

Hanji leans forward eagerly to unwrap the neatly folded handkerchief and reveal Marco’s small metal key.

The key, as well as several of the old trunks that had been stored in Marco’s truck for years, had been relocated to a storage room in the pawn shop, where the two of them had been trying to organize and sort them.  It was strangely comforting to have Levi take partial responsibility of these things that Marco had been exposed to forever but never taken the opportunity to ask his mother about.

Hanji hums in interest and gestures for their assistants to gather around for a closer look.  Armin takes notes in a small pastel colored notebook while Moblit pulls a camera from a satchel Marco hadn’t noticed before.  They huddle over the key, murmuring to each other as they take notes and photographs.

It’s sort of fascinating to watch, though it leaves Marco feeling rather lost.  The whole experience at the college has been overwhelming and right now he wants nothing more than to go back to the pawn shop and hang out with Jean.   _I feel comfortable there,_ Marco realizes with a start.   _I feel safe there._

“They’re an odd bunch,” Levi interrupts Marco’s thoughts, “but if anyone can find us enough random knowledge to give us an edge on things, it's them.”

Hanji hums again before looking back up at their visitors.  “Well we can’t be completely sure without running some tests on it, but it looks to be about 50 years old.”

“Also,” Armin remarks, pointing to the more detailed end of the key, “this could be a family emblem of some sort.”

“Oh?” Levi asks in interest as Marco leans forward to get a better view.  The two of them had figured the key’s details were purely decorative loops and swirls.  But before their eyes, the blond assistant traces out a loopy overly embellished “R” among the twisting filigree.

“Well fuck,” Levi grunts, accepting the key back to turn it between his fingers.  Marco peers over the shorter man’s shoulder.  Sure enough, now that he knows what to look for, he can easily make out the letter’s shape among the ornamentation.

“Any idea of whose family it refers to?”  Levi asks.  There’s a lightness to his gruff voice, somewhere between curiosity and optimism.

Marco gives a quiet negative.  His mother was surprisingly private with some details of her interactions with people, and this whole experience with the key is showing that she kept more secrets than Marco had ever realized.

“We can look through the archive and see if we find anything.  For the key to find Marco here in Trost, it's possible for there to be a local connection,” Hanji enthuses, already writing down potential files to search through.

Levi’s mouth quirks upward into a small smile and Marco realizes why they’ve chosen to come here.  In the hour that they’ve been at the university, the historians have found out more about the key then Marco has in the whole time he’s had it.

“Hey Marco, do you mind giving me a moment with Hanji?” Levi asks.  He looks over Marco for a moment before a smirk pulls at his lips.  “Maybe Armin can take you to go wash your face.”

Hanji laughs as Marco reflexively rubs his hands over his cheeks, surprised to find dirt and grit smearing on his fingers as he pulls back, probably leftover from Hanji’s impromptu examination.

“Come on,” Armin chuckles, “I’ll take you to the bathroom.”

The atmosphere instantly feels much more casual once they’re outside of the conference room.  Away from his boss and their new item of interest, Armin becomes quite the chatterbox, asking about Marco’s past experiences in Trost and what he thinks of the place so far.

He’s much bubblier than any of Marco’s newfound friends and the difference is refreshing, especially after spending the day with Levi, who's been stressed and more sullen than usual.

They find the men’s bathroom a couple of twisting and turning halls away from Hanji’s office.  It’s rather small and poorly lit inside, but even then Marco can see the dark streaks left behind from Hanji’s fingers, obscuring the freckles on Marco’s cheeks and making it look like he’d been the one digging in the dusty archives.  Honestly, he’s surprised Levi waited so long to say anything about it.  For him to not say anything about the mess on his face means he must have been planning to send Marco away from the conversation since they’d arrived at the university, if not earlier.

Armin is surprisingly quiet, his friendly chatter ending as Marco busies himself trying to clean his face.  Marco runs water in the sink and ties to scrub away the dirt with scratchy paper towels that more closely resemble newspaper than any form of cleaning product.  Only after rinsing his face a second time, does he realize that Armin is examining him, those bright blue eyes just as curious and inquisitive as when he’d been presented with the mysterious key.  When catching those eyes on him, Marco can’t help but feel like he’s another puzzle laid out for Armin to solve.

“So, Mikasa told me that Jean’s back in Trost…  And that he and Eren are becoming _friends_.”

“Oh um yeah,” Marco responds blankly, busy trying to dry his face with the cheap unabsorbent paper towels that could only have been bought with the budget of a public school system.  They're no better for drying than they were for scrubbing and Marco’s frustrated to realize that he could have found something better at the tiny motel he had stayed in.

“I’m glad,” Armin sighs softly, “Seems like you’re good for him.”

“Huh?”  The statement seems so sudden that Marco finally turns to give Armin his full attention, throwing the useless soggy wad of paper away.  With Marco’s eyes, widened with surprise, upon him, Armin finally looks away, scratching at the tip of his nose sheepishly.

“Well, Jean was always a bit of a loner when we were younger,” he explains tentatively, the nervous fidgeting of his hands indicating that he feels awkward bringing the topic up.  “He was friends with Connie and Sasha, but he still didn’t really open up with them either.  They were just as surprised as the rest of us when he moved.”  Armin’s face suddenly brightens as he looks back up at Marco with a shy smile.  “That’s why it's so nice to hear about Jean being… more open.”

Marco can’t help but gape at Armin for a moment.  Part of him wants to argue that he hasn’t done anything at all, but then he remembers his first interactions with Jean.  Jean’s awkwardness and unease with Connie at the pizza place.  The drastic change that came over him when Jean slowly began to open up to Marco in the passenger seat of his truck when they first talked about their visions.   _He really has changed, just in the past few days._

“I guess it's because he knows he’s not the only one with visions now,” Marco supplies earnestly, “I bet he feels less lonely and distant knowing he’s not alone.”

Armin quirks a brow, as if ready to argue that Marco had contributed a little more than that, but shakes his head instead, offering only a simple smile.  “Bring him to dinner at the Jaeger’s so I can see him then.  I don’t get much time off during the day, but it would be nice to finally be friends.”

Marco offers to do his best, the topic reminding him of the source of his earlier nervousness.  They push through the bathroom door intending to rejoin the others only to find Levi already waiting in the hall.  He barely looks up as they leave the room, too busy frowning and listening to the other end of a phone conversation.

“Of course he calls when I’m out,” Levi grumbles.  “Why didn’t he call my cell?--Oh, don’t worry Kirstein, you handled it well.  I’m frustrated with him, not you.”

Marco peeks over at Armin, curious to see if the other young man has any idea of what’s going on.  Armin simply shrugs before whispering that he should get back to Hanji and that he’ll see Marco later.  The blond scurries off quickly, leaving Marco with a very disgruntled Levi.

“We’re heading back, so I’ll deal with it, okay?”  Levi sighs tiredly as he taps the screen to end the call.

Marco is dying to ask what’s going on, but the darkness of Levi’s mood makes him an even more intimidating figure than usual.  Finally, Levi looks up to see Marco hovering curiously beside him.  He sighs again and pockets the phone before addressing him.

“Come on, we need to get back to the shop.”  He leads the way through the dimly lit grey brick labyrinth that is the history department, forcing Marco to follow his lead yet again.  Frustration adds an extra briskness to Levi’s step and despite their height difference, Marco has to speedwalk to keep up and avoid being left behind.

“Is everything okay?” Marco asks nervously.  By this time he _thinks_ they’re getting closer to the exit.  The only indication that they’ve gotten closer to the outside walls is the few narrow windows that let in the slightest glimmer of sunlight.

Levi takes a deep breath and slows his pace until he stops to pull open a door somewhat larger and heavier-looking than the others that they’ve passed.  It opens out to the parking lot, which is remarkably emptier than it had been when they first arrived.  “Yeah, it's fine,” Levi says, appearing calmer now that they’ve finally exited the building.  “That stupid _contact_ of mine just called the shop and left Jean a weird message for me.  Guess we’ll have to play more phone tag when I get back.”  There’s still anger in his tone and he practically spits the word “contact” out of his mouth, but it's a tired, resigned type of anger now.  An improvement on his earlier frustration.

They climb into Levi’s car after a detailed examination of their clothes for remaining streaks of dirt that could soil the upholstery.  “Filthy Hanji,” Levi mutters under his breath as he pats at his clothing, but there’s an undercurrent of affection coloring his tone.  

They settle in for their long drive back to the shop.  It's quiet between them for a few miles until Marco finally can’t help but ask, “Do you think they’ll help us?  Your, um, contact?”  Whoever it is seems to have an increasingly concerning history with Levi considering the brooding frustration he falls into whenever they come up.

Levi hums in consideration and takes a few minutes to think before he answers:  “Since he’s taken the initiative to call, he probably _will_ come help.”  He pauses for a moment before adding, “Personal feelings aside, his assistance would be a good thing.  Don’t worry so much.”

If Marco wasn’t reasonably sure that any prying questions would cause Levi to pull over and tell him to walk back to the shop, he would have been inclined to ask what those personal feelings were.   _Levi probably wouldn’t go to him if he were untrustworthy.  Maybe they’re selfish or mean?  Maybe he’ll only help us if we do something in return?_

Marco mulls over what Levi’s distaste for the mystery man could mean for the rest of the drive.  By the time they pull into the pawn shop’s parking lot, Marco has concocted the image of a scruffy bearded man with connections to the criminal underworld, only willing to help them if they help commit a major bank heist.  Marco shakes away his daydream as Levi parks in his space at the front of the lot, fully visible through the shop’s main window.

No sooner has Levi turned off the ignition then Jean bursts through the shop door, excitement written all over his face.  “Finally!” he exclaims, waiting impatiently for them to lock up the vehicle.  “I was so bored!  How do you even stay in business?”

Levi rolls his eyes and pushes past Jean to get to the shop’s front counter.  There, next to the shop’s outdated landline telephone, sits a notepad with the top page covered in Jean’s angular spidery scrawl, listing the details of his earlier phone conversation.

“No one came by.  The only interesting thing was that phone call and he didn’t even say much.  Just ‘Is Levi there?’ and ‘Tell him I got his message and I’ll be in touch.’”  Jean drops his voice for his impersonation, making it deeper and gravelier than his natural tenor tones.

Marco can’t help but shiver as he imagines his mystery fantastical crime boss talking to Jean over the phone.  But Jean himself doesn’t seem overly perturbed by the strange phone message; instead nonchalantly switching topics to ramble on about how he was so bored he decided to do some experimentation with his visions.

“Guess what, Marco!  I managed to figure out the difference between future and past visions!”  He gives Marco a wide smile that smoothly falls into a contemplative pout as he qualifies his statement.  “Well, I mean it’s not _perfect,_ but if I focus enough I can tell a bit of a difference between them.  Flashes of the future seem a little hazier than the past ones.  I guess since whatever it is hasn’t actually happened yet.”

Marco’s jaw drops slightly as he truly takes in Jean’s words.  The last he had heard, Eren and Mikasa had been helping Jean learn to filter by focusing on a single related image or idea.  But here he is now, tackling a major facet of his abilities that he had admitted plagued him for _years_ in only a few hours that he was bored and alone.  It’s…

“Impressive,” Levi remarks, echoing Marco’s thoughts.  “You’re improving far more quickly than I thought you would.”  He looks back at the message receipt before musing, “I guess that’s a good thing if _he_ decides to come through.”  Jean visibly inflates with pride, pushing his shoulders back as he straightens his posture, absorbing the praise full-heartedly.

“Good work today, both of you,” Levi gives them a faint smile, “I’ll close up shop, so you can go enjoy your friday.”

Marco opens his mouth to retort that he hasn’t done much besides being manhandled and led around, but Jean’s grabbed him by the arm and started pulling him to the exit before he can argue.

“Come on Marco.  I’ll show you ‘round Eren’s neighborhood before Carla expects you for dinner,” he enthuses, openly eager to leave the shop.

It’s the second time Marco’s been dragged around today, but it strangely puts him at ease instead of making him uncomfortable.   _People say I’m good for Jean, but maybe he’s good for me.  It’s_ fun _to be with him._ With these thoughts flitting through his mind, Marco gives in and lets Jean cheerfully lead him toward his truck.

They wander around the more residential avenues of Trost for a couple of hours, with Jean taking him to the local parks, the library, the grocery store, and the other little places that the locals frequent on a daily basis.  It’s Marco’s favorite of his tours of Trost because it feels like a more inside view than he had received before.  Like he’s becoming part of Trost, instead of just a visitor.

Despite his excitement, there’s an underlying discomfort that bothers him about that idea.

At 4:30 p.m., they admit that Marco should go meet his new hostess.  He’s nervous about it, but not nearly as much as he had been just that morning.

“I only live a couple of street over,” Jean goes on, “so let me know if Eren needs to be put in his place; I’ll head right over.”  He’s driving again since he’s more familiar with the area.  Actually, this is the least Marco’s driven himself since his mother first got sick, now that he thinks about it.

“I think Mikasa can keep him in line much better than you can,” Marco laughs, though he _is_ still strangely comforted to hear that Jean lives nearby.

Even Jean laughs at that.  “You’re right.  How about you just let me know if you need me, then.”  His grin is wide from his laughter, but the warmth in it is earnest and even more comforting.

Marco’s fingers trace the lump his phone makes in his pocket.  He and his mother didn’t really use phones much, so they had shared a simple flip phone with a basic pay-as-you-go plan.  He’d never texted anyone before.  But here he is with actual contacts saved in his phone now.

“Oh yeah,” Marco suddenly remembers, “I met Armin today.  And he said you should join the Jaegers for dinner one day so he can see you.”

Surprise widens Jean’s eyes for a moment before he lowers his gaze and smiles softly.  “Didn’t think anyone would _want_ to see me,” he murmurs.  Marco feels a twist in his stomach at the expression.  After seeing Jean start to grow more comfortable with himself and the people around him, it's painful to see glimpses of how lonely and uncertain he was before.

“He mentioned that you were friends with Connie and Sasha,” Marco blurts out, blushing as soon as he opens his mouth because of how keenly aware he is that this is totally not his business.  But since he’s already opened his big mouth anyway, he figures he might as well keep talking.  “So they’d probably like to hear from you too.”

Jean turns away to look down at the where his hands are resting against the steering wheel.  They’re parked outside of Eren’s house now, so there’s no reason for the intense focus other than embarrassment.  Instead he just stares down at his gloved fingers.  

Marco can see redness blooming at the tip of Jean’s ear as he turns away from him, probably because Marco’s right about Jean not contacting his friends.  Jean stares at his hands for a little longer before murmuring, “I probably should, huh.”

Jean lets the warmth in his ears dissipate before turning back to look at Marco.  “Well, Mom expects me home for dinner, so maybe we can work something out another day.”  He hums for a moment, thinking it over.  “Maybe I can bake a pie or something for Mrs. Jaeger.  I think apple pie is her favorite...”

Marco smiles and Jean blushes again, grumbling, “What?”

“You’re cute,” Marco laughs, tickled by the amount of care Jean puts into his plans, going out of his way to appeal to the mother of who used to be his “mortal enemy.”

Jean’s cheeks glow like a sunset and Marco feels a tickle in his stomach at the sight.  Though his eyes are wide with surprise, Jean bites his lip as if fighting back an embarrassed smile.  His eyelashes flutter prettily as he shyly averts his gaze.  They sit together in flustered silence, Marco letting Jean absorb the compliment.  The thought, “ _People should call him cute more,”_ briefly flits through his mind.

Jean clears his throat before laughing unsteadily.  “I see you. You’re stalling.  Get your butt in there before they come out looking for you.”  He passes back Marco’s keys and gives him a crooked but reassuring smile, still pink in the face, before climbing out to walk home.

Marco sighs before climbing out of the cab himself.  Now that he’s standing outside the cosy-looking Jaeger household, he feels that nervousness settle in his gut again.  He takes in a deep breath before he feels a sudden poke at the square of his back.  He whirls around to find Jean standing behind him, arm still extended from the contact.

“I-I thought you were going home,” Marco exclaims as he tries to reclaim his breath after being caught off guard. 

“Mmm, well I was,” Jean hums, a cheeky smile on his lips as he watches someone else get flustered for once, “But I can stop by and say hi before I go.  If you want someone to walk with you, that is.”

Now it's Marco’s turn to look away in embarrassment.  “I’d like that,” he murmurs quietly.

“Let’s go then,” Jean chuckles, leading the way up the front path.

When he knocks on the door, Eren answers, looking healthier than Marco expected for someone who had to miss work.  “Took y’all long enough,” he grumbles, “What, were you making out in the car or something?”

Mikasa pops up behind him as he finishes his sentence, pinching his ear between her thumb and index finger.  “Did you find the house okay?” She asks pleasantly, hip checking Eren away from the door to let them in.

“Yeah,” Marco smiles, unphased by Eren’s comment.  In the past few days, he’s learned that Eren is constantly teasing Jean, especially about his currently lacking love life.  So he’s learned to let wayward comments like those roll off his back, even if he _is_ implemented in them.

“Um, I just want to say hi to your mom,” Jean squeaks, his voice raising slightly in pitch.  After arguing with each other for years, Jean rarely gives Eren such an embarrassed reaction.  So the nervous hitch in his voice attracts attention.  The brunet glances between the two of them curiously before Mikasa calls out, “Mom, Marco and Jean are here.”

Whatever awkward moment they were having, it's washed away by a flurry of activity as Carla Jaeger emerges from the dining room.  She scoops up both guests in a tight hug, squishing them together in her arms without warning.  Their arms are pressed tight to their own sides, so all they can do to is wait until she lets go.

When she does release them, she turns to Jean first, letting Marco get a good look at her.  Her hair and her eyes are both darker than her son’s, but otherwise their faces are extremely similar, both with rounded cheeks.  She’s shorter than both of her children, but apparently they have the same physical strength, if her hugs are of any indication.

“Oh Jeanbo!” she cooes, “I haven't seen you in years!  You’ve gotten taller!”  Her attention causes the young man in question to blush for the umteenth time that evening.  “Are you joining us for dinner?”

“No ma’am,” he replies, “Mama expects me home soon.  I just wanted to say hi.”

“Well you and your mother are both welcome anytime!  I haven’t seen her in a while either.”

“I’ll get her to call you,” he promises.

Thus satisfied, she turns to examine Marco.  She looks him up and down, her gaze lingering on his nervous face.  “Well aren’t you handsome!” she exclaims, making Marco blush and Eren groan.

“ _Mom,_ don’t be embarrassing,” he whines.

“Oh hush, I’m just stating the obvious.”  She rolls her eyes at her son before focusing back on Marco.  “I’m Carla Jaeger and as long as you need a place to stay in Trost, you’re welcome here.”

“Oh, thank you.  You’re really too generous!” Marco exclaims, still uncomfortable at the prospect of such genuine hospitality.

“Nonsense!” she insists and Jean laughs.

“Told you you wouldn’t be able to change her mind,” Jean chuckles.  He pats Marco’s back and turns to address Mrs. Jaeger.  “I probably should get home though.”

“Oh Jeanbo, do please bring your mother for dinner one day!”

“Bye, loser,” Eren sings, opening the door to see him off.

“Eren!  That’s no way to treat a guest!”  his mother chides, but Jean just chuckles and turns to leave.  

“Takes one to know one.”

Marco reflexively reaches out to grasp at the back of his friend’s baggy sweatshirt.  He lets go instantly though, as if the fabric burns his fingers.  Mortified, he hopes that no one noticed.  He hadn’t clung to his mother’s clothing since he was a child, so why should he be reaching out for Jean?  But Jean turns back to look at him, a smile in his eyes.

“You’ll be _fine,_ ” he whispers as though reassuring a child on the first day of school.  Then he slips away through the doorway, offering them all a final wave before Eren closes the front door.

Jean was right, of course.  Marco _was_ fine.  Dinner went smoothly and surprisingly he didn’t feel as out of place as he expected.  Conversation flowed pretty well and they were busy telling Marco about Trost and asking about where he had traveled before.

Later, Mikasa and Eren help him grab his bags from the back of his truck and show him to the spare room.  It’s larger than he expected for a spare room; modestly furnished with a twin sized bed, a nightstand, and a dresser.  Though simply decorated, it somehow still had the cosy atmosphere the rest of the house did, even though there was a little more dust.  Maybe it was the obviously handmade quilt folded at the end of the bed.

It's about nine when Carla bids Marco goodnight.  “I hope everything is okay.  If you need anything, please be sure to tell us.”

“Oh, everything’s great!” Marco assures her.  Now that his hostess is getting ready for bed, he realizes that he should probably give her a heads up about his “dreams.”  It doesn’t happen very often, but he’s afraid he’ll get an intense one and talk in his sleep or something.

“I um, get vivid dreams sometimes,” Marco cautions, folding his hands together in front of his chest.  “So if I say something during the night, I hope I don’t disturb you.”  He glances down at his fingers, unable to keep eye contact while knowing that he’s indirectly lying to someone who’s being so generous to him.  But how else can he possibly explain it?

She puts her hand on his shoulder, prompting him to look back up.  “I already know all about it, hun.”

“Huh?” Marco responds blankly.

“Eren and Mikasa told me,” she explains simply, causing guilt to chew Marco’s stomach because _of course, that would make sense._ “I don’t have anything like that myself,” she continues, “but my husband was highly involved in researching such, human anomalies, I think he called them?”  She gives Marco a sweet smile, her eyes soft as she reflects.  “He found Mikasa through his research, actually.  He heard rumors about a child with extremely high influences on emotions. He looked into it and found Mikasa.  She was unhappy at an orphanage a few states over, picking up everyone’s emotions and replicating or exaggerating them unconsciously, giving herself migraines and not knowing where she stopped and other people began.  It was really unhealthy for her, so he brought her home.” She chuckles softly.  “That’s the best phone call he’s ever given me from his research expeditions, to be honest.

“So while I can’t fill the place of your mother, I still want you to know you can be honest about these things.  We’ll do our best to help you.”  She gives him an earnest, heartbreakingly _motherly_ , smile and suddenly everything is too much for Marco.

He feels tears brim in his eyes and his throat clogs with emotion.  “You’re all too nice,” he whispers, “You’re all too nice and you hardly know me.”

Carla pulls him down into a hug, much gentler than the first one she had given him.  “Trost is a pretty close community, Marco,” she whispers, “and you’ve become a part of it now.”

Those tears escape his eyes, freely running down his freckled cheeks.  “I wish Mom were part of it too,” he mumbles, but even as he says the words he knows that it wouldn’t have been possible.  Marina Bodt had always been too preoccupied with the uncertainties of the future to ever feel content to stay in one place.  Marco never would have had the chance to to stay this long in Trost had she not passed away.

Knowing that he couldn’t have his mother _and_ Trost makes his tears rain down harder.  Mrs. Jaeger simply holds him and rubs circles into his back in a slow, repetitive comforting rhythm.  ‘It's okay to cry,” she says softly, ”because life is hard sometimes.”

* * *

Marco awakes to the sound of glass shattering and jolts into groggy, unasked-for consciousness.  He’s never woken up in the middle of a vision before, in fact he hadn’t really thought about that being possible, but here he is, lost and disoriented and slightly queasy.  He’d caught a glimpse of Levi arguing with someone in tense tones, but he’d been startled awake before he could get a better view of who he was talking to.

The images are chased so quickly away that for a few minutes, Marco can’t locate himself.  He’s not in Levi’s office watching him growl at a taller man but he’s also not in his motel room either.  It’s only when he sees the quilt at the foot of the bed, made of old fabric swatches from local event t-shirts, including Trost’s Polar Bear Plunge of 2011 and the annual park cleanup from the same year, that he remembers he’s currently staying with the Jaegers.

He blearily looks over at the outdated alarm clock at his bedside to see that it's barely 3 a.m.   _ Did something break?  _ He wonders, thoughts still slow forming in his half-awake state.   _ What was that noise?   _ It doesn’t look like anything has been disturbed in his room, as well as he can tell in the dark.

He sits there in confusion for a few moments before he hears the soft whisper of voices in the hall.  He quietly untangles himself from his sheets and crosses the room to crack the door open and peek cautiously into the hall.

When they had retired to bed, everyone had shut their bedroom doors.  Now, the doors are all open, with soft glows of lamp-light emitting from Mrs. Jaeger’s room.  The low light leaks through the hall, revealing the source of the shattering--all the family photographs lining the narrow hall have seemingly fractured in their frames, showering the rug with shards of thin glass.

“What?” Marco questions softly, still keenly aware that its abysmally early in the morning and people should be sleeping.

“Everything’s fine,” Mikasa whispers from her doorway to the right of his own.  She’s tucked her feet cautiously into thick soled slippers and tells him to stay out of the hall before tiptoeing between the larger shards and disappearing in the direction of the kitchen.

He waits in confusion for a few moments before she returns, trash bags, dustpan, and broom in hand.  He wordlessly accepts the trash bags, double-bagging them for security as she begins to carefully sweep the sharp, irregularly shaped pieces of glass.

“What happened?” Marco asks cautiously, careful to keep his voice soft.

“Eren,” she sighs softly.  “He was having strange telekinetic outbursts earlier, which is why we called in sick today.  We thought it had passed but it looks like it hasn’t yet.  Sorry to wake you.”  She heaves a yawn and Marco is quick to insist that it's fine.

They both know it isn’t fine though, because Eren’s powers shouldn’t be acting up in such an extreme way.  Though Eren still has many minor, emotion-driven, outbursts, they had mentioned that they haven't been especially large-scale or destructive in _years._

She sweeps up the final shards and dumps them in the black plastic bag.  She ties it up before taking it from Marco.  “You should get back to bed,” she declares.  She disappears down the hall again, the remains of the event taken away to be deposited outside with the garbage.

Marco remains in his doorway, unsure what to do.  As he waits for Mikasa to come back, Carla emerges from the kitchen, a steaming mug in her hands.  She walks past Marco, urging him to go back to bed, before disappearing into Eren’s room across the hall.  The scent of hot chocolate wafts behind her.  The distant lamp in the master bedroom doesn’t reach Eren’s room very much, but Marco can make out his figure hunched over the bed, with legs hugged tight to his body.  He can hear the soft tone of Carla Jaeger comforting her son as she sits down on the bed, pulling his hunched form into her arms after setting the mug onto his dresser beside him.

Marco hears what sounds like sniffling and he finally retreats back into his room, shutting the door softly behind him.  The emotional intimacy outside is intimidating and he knows that there’s no place for him there.  In fact, if Eren found out that he had witnessed any of it, there's no way he wouldn't be mortified.  Marco climbs into his rumpled bed, tucking his legs up underneath himself.  He knows that Eren’s the one who’s upset, but witnessing it and being unable to do anything is pretty upsetting too.  It's lonely to watch intimate family scenes as an outsider, no matter how welcoming they try to be.  He’s  _ still  _ basically a stranger and he feels uncomfortable being here.

He picks up his phone from the bedside table, tracing its external clock display with his index finger.  _ Levi should probably know about this _ , he thinks before realizing that Mikasa will probably be sure to tell him at a decent time in the morning.  If witnessing the scene is too personal, then telling anyone about it is doubly so.  It’s just not his place.

Marco flips his phone open to look through his contacts and remind himself of why he’s still in Trost.  That there’s people helping him and working with him.  Even though it doesn't feel like it in the middle of the night, people  _ do _ care. 

As he opens his phone though, he sees a message receipt from Jean at 11 p.m.  Curiously, he presses the button to open the text.

**Jean:**  moms excited for dinner w/ the Jaegers + that im “finally” friends w/ eren. -_-   
  
          also talked to con and sash (they wanna meet u btw)... so thx

Warmth floods Marco’s heart as he reads the text; the first text he’s ever received.  The indication of friendship is exactly what he needs to remind himself that he’s not an outsider anymore.  And with that comfort, he can lay back down and think of the fun he’s had over the past few days, even among the overwhelming novelty.  Even though everything is new and different, it's  _ nice _ , too.  And it gives him the hope that this loneliness will pass someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main card for this chapter is [four of wands.](http://www.psychic-revelation.com/reference/q_t/tarot/tarot_cards/wands_4.html)
> 
> This story has grown exponentially in length since I've started working on it, so this is sadly all I can post for the minibang event. But I have the rest of the story outlined and should be updating it soon! Chapter three has some really major scenes in it and I wanted to be able to devote the time to develop them properly.
> 
> In the meantime, you can talk to me on [tumblr.](http://dat-heichou.tumblr.com)


	3. Queen of Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi's contact comes through and Marco has a lot of thinking to do.

Marco sighs as he awakes several hours later.  For a few seconds he loses himself in disoriented thoughts, grounded only by the warm sunlight that casts a welcoming glow.  It’s harder to feel like an imposter when the sun kisses his skin through the window panes.

The reassuring light of day almost lets Marco can almost shrug off the night’s strange events as some sort of confusing dream-vision.  But as he leans back, he finds something hard beneath his pillow; his phone, opening to Jean’s text with the press of a button.  

Hazy memories of broken glass and the hum of concerned voices flutter uneasily in Marco’s stomach.  He keeps his hold on his phone even as he reaches across to the bedside table for his tarot deck.  But he drops his phone somewhere in landslide of blankets in favor of sliding the box open, the glide of cards through his fingers as he shuffles offering him a quiet sense of comfort.  His thoughts flicker back and forth between his concerns of the night before to the mystery of the key that’s brought him to the Jaegers in the first place.

He stops and draws a card, revealing the queen of swords sitting proudly in his hand.  Marco closes his eyes once more, urging his thoughts to be clear.  The king of swords brought him to Jean and Levi and this card represents a similar type of forceful energy. _It can mean a need for honesty or…_

Within the darkness of his closed eyelids a freckled face appears.  At first, Marco swears it's his mother, her rounded cheeks and welcoming smile as familiar and unforgettable as ever.  The eyes that greet him are nearly identical to the ones that he sees in the mirror, only a shade lighter and carrying 20 more years of exhaustion.  

 _But that can’t be right,_ Marco thinks, _it can’t be her,_ causing the image to shift like a kaleidoscope.  The cheeks thin out dramatically and the eyes darken, the tiredness mutating into anger.  The loose brown curls draping around the woman’s face straighten, losing their wisps of grey.

Her lips become increasingly thinner as they twist into a smirk, snarling as if she’s about to speak.

A soft knock at the door startles the vision away before Marco understands what he’s seeing, leaving him feeling strangely exposed, as if he’s naked in a stranger’s house.  He shakes the feeling away as quickly as he can as he stumbles to his feet to answer the door, comforted to see Mrs. Jaeger’s motherly face.

“Good morning Marco.  I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Oh, not at all,” Marco answers quickly, waving off her concerns.

The look she gives him as she takes in his pale expression seems skeptical at best, but she doesn’t comment on it and instead changes the subject.  “I was wondering if you would like to help me make breakfast?”

It’s pretty natural to lack cooking experience, when you spend most of your life without a kitchen of your own.  Marco’s not _entirely_ helpless, though.  Grilling, he can do.  Heating pre-cooked dinners in the oven or the microwave, he can do.  Anything with fresh ingredients, well that’s rather far out of his comfort zone.

“Hmm,” Carla Jaeger hums as she watches Marco drop shell pieces along with the egg he’s unskillfully cracked into the bowl.  “Would you be more comfortable flipping the pancakes?  Those are pretty simple.”

“Yes please,” Marco whispers as he watches the shell sink into the goopy egg, mortified that he’s screwed up before even attempting to scramble them.

“Don’t worry,” she laughs as she gently shooes Marco toward the far burner of the stovetop.  “We’ve all done that before.  Just keep an eye on the pancakes.”

This at least is a little more similar to what Marco’s familiar with, and he only burns two pancakes before he figures out how long to cook them.

They’re easing into the process of cooking together and setting four plates at the table when Mikasa stumbles into the kitchen, her hair curling away from her face and light pillow marks on her cheek.

“Morning dear, how’s your brother?”

“Better, I think,” she rasps in a strained voice as she runs her hands over her face.  “Um, do we have any Advil?”

At hearing the break in Mikasa’s voice, Mrs. Jaeger quickly turns off the burner and plates the last of the eggs, setting the pan in the sink.  She runs her fingers through her daughter’s wayward hair soothingly as she asks, “Are you feeling alright?”

“It’s bad this morning, Mom,” she sighs, “people feel too much and it's overwhelming,” and Carla pulls her to her chest, hugging her tightly.

“I think we’re out of Advil, but how about you eat something and then we’ll go get some.”  Carla tucks her daughter under her arm and leads her to the table.

After a subdued breakfast of trying to keep Mikasa’s headache at bay, Marco offers to go buy the  painkillers Mrs. Jaeger had mentioned earlier.  Eren, who’s grown visibly stir crazy over the past couple of days, enthusiastically offers to go get them himself.

“Eren, I’d rather keep an eye on you to make sure you’re recovered,” his mother warns.

“Marco probably doesn’t even know where to go,” Eren whines.

“I’m sure Jean would love to go with him and make sure he doesn’t get lost,” Carla suggests lightly.  “One more day at home won’t kill you.”

Eren whines as if it will in fact kill him and Mikasa sighs, retreating with her mug of tea back to her room for some quiet and emotional distance.

“Tell you what, you can help me with the dishes if you wanna prove you’re feeling better.”  Carla smiles gently as she gathers the plates arranged nearest to her.

Eren jumps up and gathers the dirty dishes from the table with newfound enthusiasm.  He gives Marco an exaggerated wink as he collects his plate.  “Tell horseface hi for me.  Make his day and flutter your eyelashes while you’re at it.”  

Marco rolls his eyes at the comment but can’t keep his lips from raising in a tiny smile. Eren sticks his tongue out in cheerful retaliation as he carries the stack of dishes away to the kitchen.

Carla pulls a few dollars out of her purse to cover the cost and thanks Marco before following her son to the kitchen to keep an eye on him.

Marco takes the opportunity to ask Jean for yet another escort through Trost and about ten minutes later he knocks on their door, greeting Marco with a smug smile.  “I need to raise my prices,” he says with a wide smirk, “not many tour guides answer to your beck and call.”

“You’re eager to do it though,” Marco teases, “ even if only for the low price of my company.”  

Jean just grins in response.  “You seem to want mine. I showed you around the area yesterday, you can’t have forgotten where the drug store is already.  It’s close enough to walk to from here.”

“Well, let’s start walking then.”

* * *

The morning air is brisk and Marco can’t help but feel envious of Jean’s baggy sweatshirt.  Whenever Jean’s elbow (his hands are safely secured away in his pockets) brushes against Marco’s arm, the touch radiates a soft warmth.

“So… are you busy tonight?”  Jean asks as they reach the storefront.

“I don’t think so.  Actually, Mikasa’s having a bad day so it might be good to get out of her hair for a little while.”

“Good.  Well not about Mikasa, but you know.” Jean laughs awkwardly while his fingers fidget in his pockets.  “Because Connie and Sasha asked me to hang out tonight and I was hoping you’d come with me.  To meet them and stuff.”

“I’d like that,” Marco answers quietly, trying to hide the awe in his voice with a soft smile.

They enter the store--which is nearly identical to every large name corner drug store Marco’s ever been in-- and Jean leads them through the aisles, finding the Advil fairly quickly.  There’s someone else in the aisle, a tall girl in a rugged leather jacket who is occupied with sorting through several different brands of headache relief.

Jean hums as he grabs a box of Advil, ready to head to the register but stops as he notices that Marco hasn’t followed him, instead too transfixed on the young woman.

He’s staring at her-- her messy hair, her freckles, her prominent cheekbones, her disgruntled expression--and all he can see is his dream from the night before.

_ Queen of swords. _

His attention is blatantly obvious and she levels a heavy glare at him.  “Not interested buddy, keep walking.”

“Oh, um I don’t mean it like that--” Marco blurts out.  Jean stiffens behind him, reaching a hand to tug nervously on the back of Marco’s t-shirt.

“Oh yeah, well no matter what it is you’re selling, I’m not interested.”  She turns back to the medicine aisle, her rejection final.

Marco sighs, ready to give up when Jean’s grip tightens on his shirt.  “Do you get visions of the future?” Jean blurts out.

The woman turns back to give the two of them a look that's actually more incredulous than angry.  “What the fuck kind of pick-up line is that?!” she exclaims.  “What the hell, leave me alone.”

This time, neither Marco nor Jean need to be told twice.  They book it to the checkout counter and buy the Advil quickly without looking back.  It’s only when they get outside the store that they finally break their awkward silence.

“What the heck was that?!” Marco laughs, covering his face with his hands.

“Well it worked with me,” Jean whines, a deep blush flooding his face before he hides his eyes behind his hands.  “And you seemed serious, so…”

“Guess my vision was a little off,” Marco sighs easily, his laughter easing away his concern.  “It happens sometimes.  My meditation must not have been focused enough.”

They walk a few more steps before Jean suddenly splutters out a laugh of his own.  “Oh my God, she thought we were just a couple of lame creeps hitting on her.”

Marco can’t fight back snorts of his own laughter.  “How would that line even work? ‘Hey baby, do you get visions of the future?  Cuz I’m your future and I’m right here.’”

Jean laughs again as he slips an arm around Marco’s shoulders.  “‘Hey baby,” he drawls, his voice throaty and deep in a way very reminiscent to his impression of Levi’s mystery caller, “I don’t need visions of the past to know that you’re my future.’” 

The line is stupid enough to make Marco smile, but it's the earnest chuckle by his ear that makes his cheeks grow warm.

“That doesn’t even make sense!” Marco laughs as Jean slips away.

“It does for me,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

They walk quickly back to the Jaeger household, eager to give Mikasa her much needed painkillers.  But the walk is still fun even with their haste, interspersed with laughter and their ideas of the worse pick-up lines they’ve heard of.

Though Marco knows the quicker they get back the better, he can’t help but wish the streets are just a little longer.   _ At least we can hang out tonight,  _  he muses as he sneaks a peek at Jean, who’s currently using his fingers to count on as he lists as many cliche lines as he can think of.   _ His friends want to meet me.  He wants me to meet his friends. _

He’s still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he has a friend who wants to introduce him to  _ his  _ friends when Jean notices his attention and gives him a cheeky grin.  “What are you looking at?  Surprised?  I can go on all day.  I’ve probably used shitty pick-up lines on everyone in Trost.”

“I doubt it,” Marco remarks with a laugh.

“Dude, I was  _ the  _ worst flirt in high school.  Con and Sash will probably go out of their way to tell you all about it.”

“I bet you haven’t flirted with Levi,” Marco teases lightly, earnestly surprised when Jean is adamantly silent as his cheeks flare pink.  “...  I know what story I want Connie and Sasha to tell me now.”

“Noooo, nooo that was a mistake, you don’t wanna know how it went, trust me!!”  Jean’s ears redden and he runs steps ahead to try and hide the worst of his blush.

“You can tell me!” Marco laughs as he has to run to keep up with him.  “I won’t laugh!”

“You’re laughing now!!” Jean exclaims, beginning to laugh himself as he races the last few blocks to the neighborhood.

All too soon, they find themselves standing at the Jaegers front porch, out of breath from laughter and their race.  When their giggles finally subside, Jean straightens his posture and gives Marco a cheezy salute before excusing himself.  “I’m sure I’d just make Mikasa’s migraine worse right now, so you go be her knight in shining armor for me, okay?” 

Eren opens the door just as Marco turns to watch Jean meander back down the sidewalk.  The creak of the door hinge makes Marco jump and he turns quickly to see Eren give him a knowing grin. 

“Miss him already?” he teases as he steps aside to let Marco into the house.  

Marco laughs as he slips off his shoes by the entryway.  “Your timing is impeccable.”

“Mikasa could sense you guys doing your long romantic goodbyes and sent me to retrieve you.”

“You mean retrieve this.”  Marco grins as he passes over the shopping bag to Eren, who hurries to deliver it.  Marco follows him deeper into the house to return Carla’s extra change.  While she’s asking him how the walk was, Marco’s phone decides to ring in his pocket.  He excuses himself to his guest room to answer it, passing quietly by Mikasa’s closed door.  His chest is warm and light, still full of laughter--a pleasant feeling he hopes Mikasa feels too--as he brings his phone to his ear.

“Marco,” Levi begins without preamble, “Sorry for the late notice but my contact came through.  I’m going to need you to come by the pawn shop.  Just you.”

* * *

As a person, Levi is both secretive and forthright.  For every time he keeps details to himself--like the identity of his mysterious contact-- he is equally as upfront and unapologetic, especially toward the growing group of young adults that he babysits at Trost Pawn.  But he has never specifically asked Marco to come alone before and something about his tone makes Marco more than a little anxious.

_ Hopefully this will be done in time for me to meet up with Jean afterwards,  _ Marco thinks, attempting to comfort himself with fun thoughts as he parks outside the pawn shop.  He focuses on his excitement on meeting Connie and Sasha instead of his lingering unease over what Levi could want with him.

Though it's still early afternoon, the pawn shop has a strangely deserted atmosphere.  Besides Marco’s truck, there are only two other cars in the lot:  Levi’s car and a rather generic grey car that Marco can’t help but assume is a rental.

Despite the closed sign in the front window, Marco has no trouble opening the shop door.  He follows Levi’s previous instructions and locks the door behind him before making his way past the storeroom to Levi’s office.

It’s only as Marco enters the narrow back hallway that he realizes why the shop seems so strange.  Almost every time he’s been to the shop, either Mikasa or Eren, often the both of them, are somewhere inside.  Even the day before, Jean had been there to take their place.  Marco has never been in the shop without one of his friends present.

He can’t help but feel like a child called into the principal’s office when he opens the door to face two austere-looking older men.

Levi’s contact is sitting in a chair opposite the shop-owner, though they both stand at Marco’s entrance.  Immediately, Marco wishes that they had remained seated because the new man absolutely dwarfs everyone in the room.  He’s almost massive in the tiny office, six-foot tall and muscular.  It’s the smallest Marco has felt in a long time and he’s keenly aware that he himself is taller than most of the people he’s met so far in Trost.

Something about the blonde man’s presence seems to change the atmosphere in the whole office, making the fastidiously organized office with its heavy wooden furniture seem more like a corporate boardroom than a tiny space that had been stuffed to the brim with twenty-somethings just a few days earlier.  Maybe it’s the neatly styled hair that does it, parted to the right without a single hair out of place.  The neatly pressed button-down and the impeccably pleated khakis certainly enhance the image of streamlined corporate perfection.

Marco knows he’s been staring for at least two minutes, but he can’t look away.  The man’s aura screams dignified authority and his ocean blue eyes nearly swallow Marco whole.  If Levi’s steely grey eyes can see through a person to their core, then this man’s can pierce clean through it.

Marco’s fantasy version of the contact couldn’t have been further from the truth.  Instead of a unkempt sleazeball, the figure standing before him looks as if an army commander decided to be a part-time model.

Strangely, even with the man’s overwhelming presence,Marco finds his thoughts drifting back to his conversation with Jean earlier.   _ I bet this man has never said a lame pick-up line in his life.  He could make them all work. _

The man chuckles heartily as Levi clears his throat, startling Marco away from his staring contest with the stranger.  “Marco, this is my contact, Mr. Smith.”

“Nice to meet you, Marco,”  the man smiles as he reaches out to shake his hand, a welcoming enough gesture that puts Marco a little more at ease.  Marco assumes that the name is a pseudonym until the man adds, “You can just call me Erwin, though.”  The handshake is probably the firmest one Marco’s ever received, but it matches the man’s overall professional image.  Why Levi was so reluctant to call him, Marco can’t tell.

Levi grunts at the show of amiability and sits back in his plush desk chair, crossing his legs at the knees.

“ _ Mr. Smith”-- _ Marco notices Erwin’s smile fade away at Levi’s curt enunciation of his last name-- “is here to help you communicate with your mother.  I think she’ll be able to help us a little better if she tries to speak to you a little more directly than making me play telephone during different conversations hours apart.”

Erwin takes his seat again and Marco nervously perches on the one beside him.

“You see Marco, I’m telepathic--”

“There’s no privacy with this man so remember that.  I should have warned you ahead of time,” Levi dryly interrupts.

Mr. Smith shoots the shorter man a disapproving frown before continuing, “so Levi wanted me to help pass information instantaneously back and forth between you.”  He pauses for a moment before pointedly adding, “Also you should know that I have full control over my abilities, so it’s not like I’m always listening in.  So you shouldn’t be too concerned, okay?”

“But when he does listen in, it’s usually intentional.”

Erwin pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.  “Levi took some melatonin about an hour ago, so he should be drowsy enough to fall asleep soon.  Once he does, your mother will contact him and I’ll listen in and push the thoughts on to you.  It’ll still be a bit like telephone, but I’ll be able to relay the messages clearly and instantaneously.”

As the man talks, Levi shifts in his chair and lets his eyes fall closed.  In the lamplight, Marco can clearly see the extent of the dark circles under the man’s eyes and he wonders again just how often Levi  _ does  _ sleep.

“Do you meditate?” Erwin asks.  Though his analyzing stare never leaves Levi’s exhausted face, Marco knows the question is for him.  He barely nods an answer before Mr. Smith continues, “Then it’ll be easier if you meditate while we do this.  It’ll work better if you’re not distracted by your own thoughts while when we communicate.”

Marco bites his lip, thinking back on his meditation mistakes from earlier that morning.  Filtering his thoughts out has always been difficult and in the distraction of Trost, it’s even harder than before.

“Meditation is something that gets easier with practice, don’t worry.”

Marco sighs and lets his eyelids flutter closed.  When he does, it's almost eerily quiet, with only the sounds of the ticking of the wall clock and their own measured breaths.

It’s so quiet, in fact, that the ghostly “ _ now”  _ that filters through Marco’s meditative thoughts startles him.  He strains his thoughts to focus on Erwin and is surprised to see images begin to form, along with his voice.

Before him, Levi still sits in his office chair though the office itself is gone, replaced by indistinct darkness.  Erwin Smith is nowhere to be seen, but his aura seems to encompass the whole room and Marco himself.

Beside Levi, just as corporeal as he seems to be, is Marina Bodt, the spitting image of the last time Marco saw her, down to her favorite pilled sweater.  At seeing her familiar face again, Marco can’t completely stifle the sob in his throat.

Both Levi and Marina turn at the noise and stare at him with wide, shellshocked eyes.

“My baby!” Marina cries as she runs forward to cradle Marco’s face in her hands.  Despite the gesture, Marco feels a significant absence of touch on his skin and he realizes with a start that he is the immaterial one here, barely the wisp of an image in Levi’s dream space.

“Levi never told me that I’d be able to  _ see _ you,” she breathes, her eyes pooling with unshed tears.

“Mom,” Marco breathes, not entirely sure whether he’s thinking or actually speaking out loud.  The whole scene feels so real that in the moment it hardly seems to matter.

His mother gives him a gentle, watery smile as she brushes her thumb against his immaterial cheeks.  Now, standing with his mother, Marco almost feels complete.  With her here, he can tell her about all the wonderful people he’s met in Trost and he can share both his worries and his happiness.  Maybe he  _ can  _ have both friends and family somehow.

“This is very touching,” Levi interrupts tersely before Marco can break into a full-on sob, “but if you want to help your son you should tell him about the key.”

Marina sighs and frowns, peering down at her son’s face in concern.  It’s a very familiar expression because she was always worried, especially over her son’s well being.  Marco can’t help but feel guilty knowing that even in death, she is still overwhelmingly worried about him.  “I don’t know how exactly the key was delivered to you, but I know that it is a sign the book is needed.”

“Book?”

“Yes, a book.  It’s in a small locked box.”

“Where did the box come from?” Levi asks.

“A few years ago, I came across an expert on powers.  A more historian version of your Levi, I suppose.  He was very helpful when we were in a difficult situation and in return for his help, I promised to hold onto a box for him and keep it safe.”

“What’s in it?”

“From what he had heard, it was written by an extremely powerful clairvoyant many years ago with instructions of some kind and it needs to get delivered into the proper hands now that the time is right.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, Marco.  He never told me.  Maybe he never knew either.” She takes a deep breath, steadying her thoughts before she continues, “The box isn’t in one of the storage trunks.  There’s a secret compartment in the truck under the passenger seat.”

“Erwin, write that down,” Levi barks, turning in his chair to continue what Marco assumes is a silent conversation between the two men.

Once Levi is turned away though, Marco can’t help but ask, “Why didn’t you tell Levi where it was earlier?”

Marina leans forward to whisper into her son’s ear.  It’s a little creepy to hear the words brush against his ear without the breath that would normally partner with it.  “Because I don’t entirely trust him,” she warns tersely.  “Marco, people can be dangerous without trying to be.  I don’t think Levi is intending to hurt you, but you know what they say.  The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

Marco’s brow wrinkles into a frown and she continues, “Our gifts provide us with a special form of protection and it’s our job to heed the warnings.”

“Mom, you’re being paranoid,” his hisses softly, peeking over to see if Levi has noticed their conversation.  The man is frowning seriously, listening intently to whatever it is Smith is saying to him.

“No, I’m being cautious.  And you should too.  Once you deliver the box, I think you should leave Trost and keep moving forward, okay?”

“Mom, but I  _ like  _ Trost.  I’ve made friends here…”

“I know dear, but friends can hurt you more easily than anyone else.  I just want you to be careful.”

“Mom--” Marco begins before he cuts himself off, not sure anymore what it is he wants to say.  “ _ I trust them,”  _ but then she’d argue that that’s exactly why they’re dangerous.  “ _ They won’t hurt me,”  _ but you don’t know that for sure.  “ _ Just because you were hurt doesn’t mean it will happen to me.” _

“ _ Say goodbye Marco, my powers are draining,”  _ Erwin warns, a strange sudden interruption in Marco’s brain that cuts through his thoughts.

“I’ll do my best, Mom.  I wish we could have seen Trost together,” Marco whispers, gathering his thoughts together as best he can while his eyes brim with tears.  It could very well be the last time he sees her, the last time he can talk to her, and he wants to end it on as positive a note as he can.

“Goodbye my baby.  Take care,” she murmurs softly, as she cries as well.  She sniffles as she runs her fingers through the tears streaking her son’s cheeks.

As suddenly as it appeared, the scene disappears, leaving Marco alone with his tear-lined cheeks.  He remembers that his eyes are closed only when Erwin speaks beside him.

“You alright there?” 

Marco turns to look at him, surprised to see that the man is considerably paler than he had been before the scene.  It’s the closest to disheveled he’s been the whole time in the pawn shop, though his hair and clothing are still immaculate.

Marco rubs his fist harshly against his cheeks, letting out a shaky sigh, “I’ll be alright.  It’s just a lot more intense than I was expecting.”

“You and us both, kid,” the man sighs back, glancing over at Levi’s sleeping face.  “Levi says he’ll help you look for the box on Monday, but in the meantime he wants you to take it easy for the rest of the weekend and relax with your friends, okay?”

“...Okay.”

“Do you want me to walk you out to your car?”  Compared to the man who introduced himself, Erwin seems more open and concerned than before, more genuine.  Marco looks away from him, giving the man a weak smile as he rejects his offer. 

“No, that’s alright.  Thank you for your help.”

When he’s finally alone outside, Marco simply sits in his truck, taking in the silence.  It’s been a hell of a day and it’s only… 5:30 pm his dashboard clock reads.  He’s supposed to meet Jean at 6.

Though the prospect of hanging out with Jean and his friends comforted him when he parked in front of the Pawn Shop, now he just feels too drained.  Sitting in his truck, he just wants to go home and sleep and not think about any of the conflicting feelings his mother instilled in him.

Marco pulls out his phone and clicks on Jean’s contact information, holding his breath as he answers.

“Hey man, what's up?  Couldn’t wait another half-hour?”  His laugh sounds tinny through the phone but it still easily fills the otherwise empty truck.  Somehow, distantly hearing his voice illuminates the silence that surrounds Marco even more.

Marco’s silence seems to unsettle Jean as it continues to drag on and his chuckles peeter out awkwardly.  “Everything okay?” he asks in quiet concern.

“Yeah, um,” Marco’s voice cracks and  _ shoot,  _ Jean won’t believe him now.  “Something came up and I’m going to have to cancel tonight.  I’m sorry.”

“O-oh.”  His voice falls in disappointment.  The line is silent for a couple of minutes while he takes in the words, figuring out what to say.  “Um that’s okay.  Another day then.”  

“Yeah,” Marco breathes, thankful that his friend has decided to give him time before he asks questions about it.  “You have fun without me, okay.”

He hears a sigh on the other end before he hangs up and Marco can't fight the guilt settling in his chest.  He drops his phone somewhere on the bench seat beside him without bothering to look for it. The silence in his truck almost echoes in his ears, but he can’t bring himself to turn on the radio either.  He sighs and drives back to the Jaeger’s, where he promptly excuses himself to his room.  Around 6:30, his phone rings and Marco lets it go to voicemail.   He has a lot to think about and he just wants to be alone.

* * *

Marco groggily wakes up all too quickly on Sunday morning.  According to the clock beside him it's only 5:30 am, but he’s not too surprised considering he’d fallen asleep around 8 pm the night before.

Marco sighs as he remembers the emotional turbulence of the previous day.  A night alone hadn’t done much to quell his mind, but it did remind him that he was tired of being alone all the time.  Sure he doesn’t know what he’ll do when the key is handed over, but he doesn’t actually need to figure that part out  _ quite _ yet.

With this decision to put off deciding, Marco feels comfortable enough to open his phone and hit the voicemail button. As he raises it to his ear, he can hear the pre-recorded voice list the time and date before Jean replaces it, his voice softer and more hesitant than it usually is.

“Hey Marco, it’s Jean.  I have a feeling something’s bothering you, and I, um, hope I didn’t make it worse? Or cause it.  Um, I’m here if you want to talk about it, so yeah, just let me know.”  His voice trails off awkwardly for a few seconds, as if he’s ready to add something else, before the recording cuts off.

Marco sighs as he flips his phone shut again.  He’s not sure how much he wants to tell his friends about his vision of his mother, especially because well, it’ll seem like he doesn’t trust them.  He does, but… that’s just a stressful conversation waiting to happen.

To keep himself busy, Marco dedicates the morning to doing as many household chores as he can manage without waking the Jaegers.  By the time Mikasa finds him, he’s already sweeped out the kitchen and dining room and cleaned the front windows.

“Feeling better?” he asks, forcing his voice to a far brighter tone than he actually feels.

“Yeah,” she answers simply, taking a moment to watch him as he moves on to the next cleaning project he can think of.  “I heard you and Jean went to the store to get the medicine for me, so thank you.”

Marco can feel his shoulders visibly tense at hearing Jean’s name and he curses under his breath.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Mikasa suggests, “but you can’t hide your feelings from me.  You’re radiating pain and confusion.”

Marco sighs.  “I’m sorry, I know you were overstimulated yesterday and me doing this now probably isn’t helping.”

“Marco, stress-cleaning the house is a sign that anyone can read.”

Marco sighs again but finally puts down the duster.  “I had a meeting with Levi last night and it gave me a lot to think about.  I was supposed to hang out with Jean later but I had to cancel and I don’t know how much to tell him or even how to tell him about what happened.”

Mikasa folds her arms as she thinks, evaluating him while she contemplates his dilemma.  “Well, Marco, honestly it could go either way. Jean keeps his secrets closer to his heart than the rest of us.  That can mean that he can definitely understand your need for privacy, but he's also likely to take everything personally and think he did something wrong.”

“Oh…”  Marco bites his lip as he remembers the concern in Jean’s message.  The one he didn’t reply to.

Mikasa gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.  “I’m sure if you explain it the way you told me, then he’ll understand.  But it’s better to tell him soon, before he stews in his thoughts too much.”

“You’re right…”  _ Of course she is, she’s Mikasa.  “ _ I guess I’ll go and call him back then.  He at least deserves an explanation…”

He takes his phone outside for a little privacy--he’s not quite sure how long Mikasa’s perceptual range is.  It’s only when a crisp morning breeze hits him that he remembers that he’s still in his pajama pants and t-shirt.  But by this point, he knows that if he goes back inside he’ll chicken out.  So he pulls down the truck tailgate for a seat and makes himself as comfortable as possible before he hits the call button.

As the phone rings, he thinks about his words, trying to find the best ones to use.  Just as he thinks he’s found the best way to begin, the ringing stops and sends him straight to voicemail.   _ Okay…  Maybe his phone was off.  I’ll wait a little while and try again _ , he reassures himself.  He stays out on his tailgate until goosebumps rise on his arms and calls again.  This time, the phone rings twice before he hears the voicemail message again.

“Yo, it’s Jean.  Leave a message.”

“Hey, Jean, it’s Marco.  I, um, wanted to talk about last night.”  Marco hangs up and sighs to himself,  _ One more time. _

He waits about a minute before hitting the call button again.  The phone rings once and briefly starts a second trill before he’s abruptly sent to voicemail a third time.  By this point, there’s no conclusion to reach besides the one that Jean’s purposely avoiding his call.

“What the hell, Jean!” Marco groans, his mood further deteriorating the longer he sits there staring at his phone.  “Just talk to me!”

He feels worse than he did when Mikasa first convinced him to call and he certainly doesn’t want to face the Jaegers just yet.  He leans against the trunks arranged in his truck bed, accepting that he’ll stay outside longer than he’d like when an idea hits him.

_ “A compartment under the passenger seat.”   _ He throws himself full-heartedly into another distraction--pulling his truck apart to find the trunk his mother had mentioned.  

Two hours later, it’s Eren who comes to find him.

“Fucking hell, Marco!”

The suddenness of his voice causes Marco to startle, smacking his head against the underside of the passenger seat that he’s tried to contort himself to fit underneath.  There was nothing beneath the floor mats--which were hastily ripped out and are currently lying crumpled in the driveway--and he can’t get the seat to move, so he’s taken to fiddling with as much as he can reach.  As the gash on the back of his hand proves, It hasn’t turned out to be the safest endeavor due to loose springs hidden in the dark recesses.

“I’m just looking for something,” he answers simply, obviously too simply for Eren’s taste as he rolls his eyes.

“Well come eat something.  Mikasa says you’ve been tinkering and meddling with things all morning and it needs to stop.”

Part of Marco wants to argue that he should really keep looking but his hand hurts, he’s cold, and his pride is too tired to win out again.

“Okay…” he sighs.

Eren pushes Marco into the house to get his hand disinfected while he cleans up the mess he made in the driveway and reassembles the truck.  At this point, Marco’s too tired to say anything.

Carla worries over him the minute she sees his hand and pulls him aside to a well-stocked first-aid kit.  He hisses as she flushes out the wound with rubbing alcohol and she sighs.

“We know something’s wrong Marco.  It’s okay to try and handle things yourself, but there’s no shame in turning to help from other people.”

“People expect a lot from me,” he finally says as he watches her expertly bandage his hand with well practiced fingers.  “And sometimes they want me to do opposite things.”

“And what do you want to do?” she asks patiently.

“I’m… not sure.”

“Well, it's okay to take your time to think about it.  In the end, you should do what  _ you  _ want to do.  You’re not expected to live purely for the sake of other people you know.  You can live for yourself, too.”

“But what if I make the wrong choice?”

“People make the wrong decisions all the time.  Sometimes you just need to trust that it’ll all be okay.”  She squeezes his hand gently, avoiding the bandaged part.  “Come on, let’s eat.”

When they’re all seated at the table with the comforting sight of another home-made breakfast on the table, Marco admits that he’s pretty sure he’s upset Jean.

“A lot of things upset Jean, so it’s very possible,” Eren shrugs before eating a bite of french toast.

“But… what do I do?” Marco asks.  Eren simply shrugs again while Mikasa mulls it over.

“You said he wanted to introduce you to Connie and Sasha, right?  Maybe I can call Sasha and ask how it went last night?”  Mikasa suggests.

It’s as good an option as any and Marco eagerly nods his approval.  Carla simply considers them all in silence.  

“After we eat then,” Mikasa decides.  


* * *

 

It’s the first time he’s been in Mikasa’s room.  Her bedside table and dresser have a childlike flower motif around the edges that looks as if it was handpainted many years ago.  The other furniture seems much newer and more streamlined, larger to accommodate a young adult rather than a child.  Even with the different styles, the room somehow seems cohesive and relaxing.  Photos are attached to every available flat surface--ranging from childhood photos of the Jaegers and a bearded man he assumes is their father to recent pictures of them with Armin in front of the familiar backdrops of Levi’s shop and Trost University.

The pictures contain a wide range of memories through the years, but the one thing in common is that they all seem to be earnestly joyful moments, something for Mikasa to smile at after a long, emotionally draining day.

Mikasa pats the spot on her bed beside her as a gesture for Marco to sit as she scrolls through the contacts on her phone.  It’s strangely intimidating to sit on her bed in her childhood room, like it’s the apex of her personal space.  But he sits anyway, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible.

Mikasa holds the phone between them as it rings.  After a few seconds, a cheerful voice chirps, “Hey, ‘Kasa!  Haven’t heard from you in a while.  What’s up?”

“Hey Sash.  I heard Jean was going to introduce you to Marco last night but he couldn’t make it.  But I figured he’d still want to say hi to you over the phone.”

“Hi, I’m Marco,” he blurts, nervously staring at the phone screen like it can give him some kind of hint how the girl on the other line is reacting.  Her contact photo smiles brightly, mid-laugh from some joke he’s never heard in some context he knows nothing about.  It doesn’t give him much comfort.

“Hi Marco!”  She answers enthusiastically.  “We were super bummed that you couldn’t make it last night, but you’re always welcome to come hang with us.”

“Yeah?”  

“Of course!  Jean thinks you’re cool and he barely thinks that of anyone.”  Sasha laughs.

“Was he… upset that I couldn’t make it?”  Marco hesitantly asks before biting his lips.  It’s a lot to ask of someone he barely knows and it makes it seem like he just called her to ask about Jean.  Well, he sorta did, if he’s being honest.  Which is pretty rude, actually, now that he stops to think about it.

The heavy pause after the question is painful for a handful of reasons.

“Well…” Sasha finally answers, “I wouldn’t say he was upset at you…”

“What happened?”  Mikasa asks.

“Jean got mad at himself and got wasted before ranting about what an unreliable person he is and a bunch of other stuff.”

“Oh no,” Marco frets before Mikasa stops him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Jean’s been going through a lot of change lately.  It’s not all something you did.”

“Besides,” Sasha adds, “if he’s ignoring your calls or anything I can guarantee it has more to do with a hangover and him feeling embarrassed than anything else.”

“Guarantee?”

“We may have been responsible for his phone last night so he wouldn’t drunk call anyone.”

“Oh…”

“Marco, you really don’t need to worry about ole Jeanbo.  He’s surprisingly straightforward most of the time.  He really likes you and more than anything he wants you to like him.  Whatever happened last night doesn’t change that.”

“Oh.  Um, thank you!”

“No problem!  We look forward to meeting you in person!  Soon, okay?”

“Yeah.”  This time, Marco can finally smile at the idea of meeting them in person.

Mikasa turns the call off speaker for a moment and continues talking privately to Sasha.  Marco politely tunes the conversation out, instead turning his attention back to the pictures on her mirror.  He’s not sure how long the conversation lasts, but Mikasa breaks him out of his thoughts as he studies a particularly interesting picture of Mikasa, Eren, and Armin dressed as the three fairies from  _ Sleeping Beauty _ for Halloween.

“If you want to look at pictures, I have something to show you,” she says, reaching over to pull a large hardback book off of the bottom bookshelf by her bed.  “This is senior year, but I probably have older ones in my closet somewhere.”

She hands him the surprisingly heavy book, titled  _ Trost High 2012 _ .  For a moment he simply stares at the cover, almost in awe of the photograph of the school there.  Honestly all the schools he had gone to had begun to merge together in his memory and he couldn't remember which school he had actually graduated from.

He becomes self-conscious for staring too long and hastily opens it.  Inside, the cover of the book is full of various handwriting, ink practically covering all available white space.

The top of the first page has the words “Page reserved for Eren and Armin only” written in large blocky letters.  The body of the page is covered with little doodles of graduation caps and diplomas, Eren’s way of taking up the space that neither his short but largely written message of love to his sister nor Armin’s long letter about the end of their public school lives together could entirely fill.  The contrast between Eren’s large, blocky letters and Armin’s tiny nearly font-like cursive seems to suit what Marco’s seen of their personalities so far. 

The rest of the cover pages are full of as many colors of ink as there are types of handwriting.  It’s certainly not surprising that Mikasa was well-known and well-liked, but to see all the personal notes laid out in front of him is a little overwhelming.

Sensing this, Mikasa takes the book back and flips through the pages.  “Senior portraits are here,” she tells him as she passes the book back but leans over his shoulder to continue to direct him.  She points out Armin first, whose hair is considerably shorter in the photo--only to his chin instead of his shoulders like it is now.  Next she points out a pretty brunette that she says is the Sasha they just talked to.

She turns a couple of pages before Marco chuckles in recognition.  “Eren always got really mad when Jaeger and Kirstein ended up on the same page,” Mikasa sighs, “but it happened like every year.”

Mikasa looks beautiful, her long hair pinned out of her face with barrettes.  Eren and Jean, on the other hand, both look like awkward messes.

Mrs. Jaeger had obviously tried to convince Eren to style his hair for the photo, but the end product is a clumsily slicked-back mess that’s half-plastered to his forehead.  It might have looked good if Eren didn’t look so visibly stiff and awkward in the image.

Poor Jean is an even worse train wreck.  His hair is freshly bleached a glowing platinum blonde, far brighter than the natural sandy blonde shade that Marco is familiar with.  A battle with hair gel slicks this boy-band shade back off his forehead but is applied so thickly that it looks more like a fluorescent helmet than hair.  Yet the broad smirk on his face makes it seem that he was blissfully unaware of the disastrous state of his hair.

A strange part of Marco finds the confidence endearing.

“He would die if he knew that I showed you that picture.”

Marco chuckles.  “Yet you’re showing me anyway.”

“I’m sure you’ve found that Jean’s much sweeter when he’s not trying to pretend to be better than he is.”  She flips to the back of the book, only pausing briefly to point out Connie--who’s a spitting image of how he looks now.  She points simply at a note written in the back of her yearbook.

“Mikasa:  Take care and kick ass.  Good luck with the idiot.-- Jean.”

Mikasa smiles softly. “It’s good to see him again.  Especially so open.”

“Ah… yeah.”  Marco answers awkwardly.  Thinking about how long they all seemed to know each other prickles in his stomach, especially when he thinks about how quickly he’s managed to slide past defenses of Jean’s that they barely could.

_ He’s gotten to you too.   _ The thought sounds remarkably like his mother’s voice from the night before--soft and bodiless.

Mikasa walks him through a handful of her favorite photos--memories of sports meets and band concerts and family gatherings--before Carla peeks through the door and interrupts them with a smile.  “We’re having company for dinner tonight!”

Mikasa smiles knowingly at Marco before she nods to her mother to continue.

“The Kirsteins are joining us.”  Carla smiles again.  “Patricia will be so happy to meet you, dear.  And you’ll get the opportunity to talk to Jeanbo.”  She winks at Marco and flashes him a quick thumbs-up before slipping through the doorway.

Nervousness settles in Marco’s gut.  The Jaegers have gone out of their way to help him fix his problem with Jean, even though it’s totally his fault.  And yet he’s still not sure if he’s ready to talk to him.

“Now now Marco.  There’s no reason to look so worried,” Carla says brightly.  “You know what they say:  the way to the heart is through the stomach!  You all can help me cook and make him so happy with food the awkwardness will be gone.”

Eren laughs as he peeks out of the doorway to his own bedroom.  “You just want to make something really good to impress Mrs. Kirstein.  She’s the best cook in Trost, isn’t she?”

“Two birds, one stone, my son.”  Carla smiles as she looks over them all.  “Let’s get cooking!”

As he’s ushered into the kitchen surrounded by the Jaegers, Marco can’t help but smile.  

“There we go!” Carla grins.  “It’ll be great, don’t you worry.”

The kitchen is seriously cramped with the four of them in it, but it only dawns on him when he’s clumsily chopping ingredients and passing them down the line that Trost is really beginning to feel like home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience!!
> 
> The card for this chapter is the Queen of Swords.
> 
> As always, thanks to musewriter777 for giving me a second set of eyes for editing.
> 
> There will be much more Jean in the next chapter!


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